


The many adventures of Fleabag

by Wavecloud19



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fleabagpov, Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Reunions, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23476768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wavecloud19/pseuds/Wavecloud19
Summary: Post the bus stop breakup, Fleabag is moving on with her life without the priest. But he somehow keeps finding his way back in.Expect some angst, some smut and some drunken priest antics.Each chapter is loosely based on a Winnie the Pooh quote since Priest is a nostalgic person and loves Winnie the Pooh.
Relationships: Claire & Fleabag (Fleabag), Claire/Fleabag (Fleabag), Fleabag & Priest (Fleabag), Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 131
Kudos: 325





	1. “I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time” - Winnie the Pooh

**‘I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.’ - Winnie the Pooh**

**********************

I jolt awake. Sitting up abruptly in the darkness. I look around, there’s someone sleeping next to me. Oh yeah, Rich, the guy I’ve been seeing. It’s going quite well actually. Been a couple of months now.

Rich continues to sleep soundly. His breathing even and shallow. My jump in bed hasn’t woken him. Good. I need some time to process my thoughts. I push the sheets back, swinging my feet over the side of the bed and feeling around with my feet for my slippers. I creep towards the bedroom door, hopping slightly over that one bit of the floorboard that always creaks, and head to the living room.

My heart is still pounding. Drops of sweat on my forehead. I’ve woken up from a dream. A nightmare really.

I head to the kitchen, to the sink to grab a glass of water. I’ve been with Rich for maybe two months now, met him at one of my Godmother’s exhibitions. It’s probably the only thing about the relationship that I don’t like. She bloody loves telling everyone how much I owe her for the fact I met my boyfriend through her. It nearly gets bad enough that I sometimes think about ending it just to spite her. Only sometimes though. I do actually really like him.

It’s been six months since my dad and Godmother’s wedding. The first month was hard. I spent most of it getting drunk, hooking up with strangers and pleading with myself not to show up at the priest's church drunk at 2am, begging for him to change his mind.

But by the time I met Rich, I had come around to the idea of a bit of sober dating and only semi regularly thought of the priest when I had a wank.

And now, two months into dating Rich, the priest really only comes into my mind very occasionally and usually by accident. Like, last week, Rich and I were out at a bar. And usually we would have beer or wine, maybe vodka, but this time Rich ordered a gin and tonic, and the way he said it, ‘I’ll have a G and T,’ with such glee, reminded me of the priest. Reminded me of that time he offered me a can in his vestry. At 11am on a Sunday.

I take a sip of water and turn, leaning back against the counter.

God that dream was so disconcerting. So fucking real. And I can remember every vivid detail.

I shake my head. Why do I have to remember every vivid detail?

You know when you have a dream about someone really obscure, like maybe you dream about your boss or your hairdresser or the uber driver who dropped you home, and then for a little while you feel strangely close to them. Like the two of you have shared a secret, uncomfortably intimate. Maybe it’s just me?

One time I dreamt that the guy who works on the tills in the Tesco near me was going down on me in the bakery aisle. And I swear for a week after that, whenever I went to Tesco, I couldn’t look him in the eye.

But this dream tonight. This dream was something else.

_We had been walking in the park. Just a casual afternoon stroll, nothing particularly exciting. Our fingers were interlaced, his thumb was gently stroking my hand, in that soft sensitive part between my thumb and finger. We had been talking about dogs, and he had leant over and kissed my temple, mid conversation, as we walked. Just casually, like he did it all the time. He wasn’t wearing his collar, nothing to signify his religious vocation. He was wearing a deep red sweater and jeans. The sweater was fitted, resting snugly against his toned body. And every so often, when he became particularly animated, the sweater rose up and I could catch a glimpse of the happy little trail of hair on his torso. It made me want to run my hands down his body._

_A sudden gust of wind swept across us and I shivered. I was wearing a dress. A red dress. The dress from the wedding._

_He unlinked our fingers and put his arm round my shoulders, pulling me towards him, pressing his warm body against me. He was still talking about dogs. He said we should get a Dalmatian, he liked their spots. Plus that Disney film was cute._

And then I woke up.

What the fuck. I turn and gaze out of the kitchen window, the trees are blowing softly in a breeze, the moon is full. I sigh and head up to bed.

\-------------

The next day, Saturday, Rich and I have a lazy breakfast. He makes me waffles with fruit and brings it up to me in bed. He kisses me on the nose as he places the tray down. I'd struggled to get back to sleep after the dream woke me up. And now as my wonderful guy brings me breakfast in bed, I’m feeling a little bit guilty. Kind of like I’ve cheated on him.

The day goes by fast, the café is busy, and by the time I close, clean up and head back to mine, Rich is laying out on the sofa. His feet are on the coffee table, he’s watching some new show on Netflix. Vampires or wolves or something.

He smiles as I come in through the door, Chinese takeaway in one hand, keys in the other.

‘Hi baby, good day?’ he puts his feet down and gets up to greet me with a kiss. He really is a sweet one, although I’m not sure how I feel about ‘baby’ as a pet name.

He brushes his fingers through my hair. He’s so bloody good looking. Dark hair, but bright piercing blue eyes. He loves going to the gym, his arms are out of this world. 

Dinner is nice enough, I manage to get him to put one of my shows on instead of his weird monster show and by the time we head to bed, I’m ready for a quick shag and then sleep.

After some mind-blowing sex, he turns off the light on his side table, pulling me into him. He likes to start the night out spooning. I usually pull myself away from him at some point during the night, but I appreciate the closeness as we fall asleep. He leaves a quick kiss on my shoulder, whispers good night and we head off to sleep.

***

My eyes snap open. I am sweating again. I’ve thrown the covers off my body as I slept. My heart is pounding and my mouth is so dry. I look towards Rich. Again, he is still sleeping. My sudden movement hasn’t woken him. His mouth is slightly open and he’s softly snoring. Interesting revelation. God he looks cute.

I head to the kitchen, same as last night, and grab a glass of water.

The dream had been so vivid. Again. It was different though.

_We were in the cinema. He had a big tub of popcorn on his lap, and his hand was laid on his knee, palm up. You know how teen boys do when they want the girl they’re with to put her hand on top. We were watching a movie about owls. I glanced from the screen towards him and he was looking at me. His deep chocolate brown eyes were intense. I put my hand on his and he leaned in. His lips brushed my ear as he whispered to me, ‘want to get out of here?’_

_‘Yes, fucking yes.’_

_We crept out of the row and up the aisle of the cinema, ignoring a couple of angry glances from the other cinema goers. Outside the cinema, he had thrown his popcorn to the side, slammed me against the wall, his fingers in my hair, body pushing against me, lips on my neck, biting. He brought his lips up to mine, his hands moving to my neck, soft thumb stroking under my chin. I moved my hands to his belt, unbuckling with frantic fingers._

_He raised his eyebrows, glancing around the cinema lobby. ‘Here?’_

_‘I can’t wait,’ I whispered as I yanked at his jeans._

_He raised his eyebrows playfully, ‘well then yes, fucking yes.’_

_His lips were back on my neck. Sucking, drawing blood. He pulled at my skirt, trying to gain access._

And then I woke up.

I put my hand to my neck. Where just minutes ago, a priest had been biting the tender skin.

Hmm. Interesting. If I felt like I had cheated on Rich from last night’s dream, who knows how I’ll handle this one. We had been practically fucking in a cinema.

I grab my water, heading back upstairs. Rich turns slightly; his eyes are open. He’s blinking confusedly. I must have made a little more noise than I aimed to.

‘Shh, sorry, I just wanted some water’ I whisper to him as I clamber back into bed.

He reaches out his arms, pulling me towards him, planting a kiss on my lips. I snuggle into him, images of popcorn and brown eyes on my mind.

\---------

A few days pass. Rich and I spend Sunday together. He even cooks for me, laying the table and setting up some candles. Really fucking fancy. More than I’ve had a boyfriend do for me before.

Then, the next day, he has to head off up north for an overnight business trip, so Monday night leaves me to masturbate to some Obama speeches, have some quick phone sex with Rich and head to bed fairly early.

I’m getting slightly concerned about my relationship with Rich. That candlelit dinner from the night before was really romantic. It feels serious. I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of serious.

I had thought it would be nice to have the bed to myself again for the night. Rich essentially spends all his time here these days. But now I’m actually alone, I’m not sure I like it. I put my hand out to the empty space where he usually lies and grab his pillow. It smells like him. Me, catching these feelings so quickly. Who’d have thought?

***

My eyes snap open. Fuck. My heart is hammering out of my chest. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears. Another dream.

I don’t get out of bed this time. No Rich to avoid disturbing. I throw the covers off my body, lying in the darkness, eyes wide open.

_We were back in the park. It was a summers day, I had on a denim skirt and stripy tee and he had on green shorts, and a tank top. His arms. My fucking God, his arms. He had brought some food, a blanket and some prosecco and we had been lying out, enjoying the rays and getting slightly tipsy._

_I was laying on my back, gazing straight up to the clear blue sky, one hand on my stomach, one flopped out to the side, playing with a blade of grass. He was lying on his side, chin propped up on his hand, a glass of bubbles in the other._

_‘Favourite season?’ I said._

_‘Spring, new life, it feels hopeful you know? Yours?’_

_‘Summer, hot men, it feels hopeful you know?’_

_He laughed, ‘favourite colour?’_

_‘Varies constantly. Today is green.’ I eyed his shorts. ‘Yours?’_

_‘Oh, I don’t know really. I like them all, maybe blue if I had to pick.’ He put his glass to the side, edging closer to where I lay._

_‘Sunrise or sunset?’ he was lying on his front now, chin propped up on his palms, the whole of his right side was touching me. The touch of his body against mine felt like it was on fire._

_‘I rarely make sunrise. I’d have to say sunset.’ I turned my head towards him._

_He edged closer; his face was a centimetre from mine. He leaned in, lightly brushing his lips against mine. I pulled at his top, pulling him on top of me. And then we were frantic, his lips were electric on mine, he bit at my bottom lip, his tongue sliding along my lip, my mouth opening to welcome it in. One of his hands found it's way down to my waist, mine were running over his solid muscular arms and his back. Then his hands were on my breasts, pulling at the neckline of my t-shirt, trying to get underneath._

_And then suddenly, we were in the church. Leaning against the confessional. His thumb was on my bottom lip, it sent shivers down my spine, he was looking deeply into my eyes, he opened his mouth he was about to say something._

And then I woke up. FUCK. This is so frustrating.

As I lie in the darkness, I can’t work out. Am I annoyed because he’s making his way into my dreams, disrupting my life? Or am I annoyed because every time I have a dream, I wake up just as the going gets good? Like some unseen force is cockblocking my dream.

I want to say the former, but as my heartbeat calms slightly, and I close my eyes, I have a sinking feeling it’s the latter. I have a sinking feeling that the progression of my relationship with Rich is bringing up the old memories. Reminding me of what I lost.

\----------

When Rich gets back from his trip, I’m waiting in my flat. I leap up from the sofa when the buzzer goes, rushing to let him in and greet him. He wraps his arms around me, at 6’3, he makes me feel small in his arms. Something I rarely get to experience. I bury my face into his chest, inhaling his scent.

‘Miss me?’ he laughs into the top of my head.

I pull back, looking up at him, ‘yes I actually did.’ I grin.

‘Actually did? Are you surprised?’ he smiles back.

‘A bit. Thought I might appreciate my space, but I didn’t. I smelt your pillow.’ I confess.

‘You smelt my pillow,’ he moves his arms, putting them to my waist ‘You my lovely,’ he pinches me, ‘are a loser.’

‘Hey!’ I punch him lightly.

‘Ok, my little loser, I’m taking you to bed.’

\----------

‘To love!’ Godmother chimes.

‘To love!’ the rest of the table repeats, holding up their glasses.

Rich and I are celebrating 6 months. Can you believe? I’m shocked we made it that far. A few weeks ago he said ‘I love you.’ I’m still holding out. Truth be told, I’m slightly confused. It kind of feels like love, but not quite the same as my most recent love. I can’t quite work out what’s missing.

Godmother, having been the one who introduced us, has insisted that we celebrate our six months with her, and with dad. I insisted if we had to fucking do that then Claire and Klare had to come too.

So, that’s how it came to be that the six of us are sitting to dinner, in the restaurant where I first met the Priest, celebrating a relationship that I’m pretty sure I’m actually invested in. Today isn’t our actual six-month anniversary. We celebrated privately a few days ago. But we’re pretending to Godmother that it’s today. She seems to think she is allowed direct access right into our relationship.

‘You know, I still can’t get over how she managed to catch you,’ Godmother is saying to Rich. ‘I mean, you are just so… - and she is…,’ she looks at me.

Rich grabs my hand under the table and squeezes. ‘She is absolutely beautiful. I’m so glad you introduced us. Really I am.’

She widens her eyes. Like she can’t quite believe him. God I fucking hate her. I mostly zone out for the rest of the dinner. Rich’s hand stays firmly on my knee when he isn’t eating, and he does a good job of deflecting Godmother’s not-so-subtle jabs towards me.

On the walk home, hand in hand, Rich turns towards me.

‘So, good dinner?’

‘Yeah, love to be constantly insulted by my Godmother turned Stepmother. You?’

‘Yeah, she’s really something isn’t she. Hey, so six months. Six months with a sex God. Are you happy?’ he’s in a jokey mood.

‘A sex God? Right,’ I roll my eyes.

‘So, I was wondering though. Six months and… you haven’t said it.’ he swings my hand in his.

‘I haven’t said it? What? Your penis is pretty? I’ve said that quite a few times actually.’

He laughs, ‘no, but that’s nice, thanks.’ He stops walking, pulling me to the side of the pavement. ‘But seriously, I’ve said it a few times now, and it’s been six months. Are you…’

I glance down. Why is he asking me this now? Fuck.

I sigh and look up at him, ‘I don’t know what to say.’

Oh god, his eyes. He looks hurt. ‘You don’t know what to say?’

‘I mean, I love spending time with you. I miss you when you’re gone, and I want to be with you…- ‘

‘But you won’t say it?’

‘I think I just need a little more time.’

‘More time than six months?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose. Do we have to put a timeline on this? Just because it’s six months and my Godmother is insane and going on about us getting married, does that mean I have to say it now?’

He studies my face. His eyes are piercing. I sense a sudden change of tack.

‘Hey, maybe I’ll sleep at mine tonight? Just give you some space. I love you; I do. And I want to give you time.’

‘Sleep at yours?’ That hurts. I don’t even know where this is coming from. I get that most couples say ‘I love you’ before the six-month mark, but I didn’t think he wanted us to be like most couples.

‘Yeah, just for tonight, maybe a couple of nights, to give you some room. I’ll walk you home.’

‘Oh, that’s ok.’ I take a step back. ‘I need to stop by the supermarket anyway.’

‘You sure?’ he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Text me when you’re back, ok?’

‘Yep, of course,’ I smile.

\-----------

On the way to Tesco I think about what he’s said. I guess it’s about time I said it. He probably wants to make sure this relationship is going somewhere. And like I said, I think I do love him. I’m just struggling with the comparison I keep making.

I head down the frozen aisle in Tesco. Since Rich isn’t in my bed tonight, I’ll settle for two other men, Ben and Jerry. I really should get my act together with him. I love him. Do I love him? Why do I keep dreaming of the priest? And the dreams are getting more and more intimate. After the last one, it took me a week to get back to normal.

As I’m eyeing up the freezer, about to lean forward to take my selection, I hear a noise behind me.

‘Hi.’

I turn quickly. I recognise that voice.

‘How’ve you been?’

The lilting Irish voice. The priest. I turn slowly, rotating on the spot until I see him.

Fuck me, he looks good. He’s not in his priest get up. He’s got on a deep navy shirt, top button undone. His arms look divine under his sleeves. And his neck, his beautiful neck.

‘Father,’ I stutter, ‘hi, how are you doing?’

‘Oh, you know,’ he crosses his arms, ‘good, I was just having a drink with a friend, in the neighbourhood.’ He gestures vaguely.

‘Ah, I was just at dinner.’

‘Dinner, nice.’ He glances towards the freezer. ‘No desert at dinner?’

I follow his gaze, the Ben and Jerry’s. ‘Well, it was with my family, so we just tried to get away as quickly as possible.’

‘We?’ he glances around. It’s obvious I'm not with anyone.

‘Oh, yeah. My boyfriend. Well, I think.’ _Do not tell him_. ‘It was our six-month anniversary.’ _Do not tell him_. ‘He’s not very happy with me though, I'm having communication issues, so he’s headed back to his own place and I’m taking Ben and Jerry to bed with me.’

His eyes grow wide. At what? The boyfriend? The six-month anniversary? The communication issues?

He laces his fingers together in front of his body. ‘Ah, sounds… complicated.’

‘Not that complicated,’ I shrug.

‘So, a boyfriend. I’m happy to hear you’re…-‘

‘I dream about you.’ I interrupt him.

He starts, takes a step back.

‘Wha-?’

‘Yeah, I keep waking up in the middle of the night, in bed with my boyfriend, and I’ve dreamt about you.’

He glances around awkwardly.

‘I don’t really know why I told you that. It’s a bit weird, I guess, but – ‘

‘I don’t find it weird. I dream of you too.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, most nights. I put you in my prayers, and you somehow make it into my dreams.’

‘Bet your dreams are PG at least. Mine are heading towards R rated.’ I sigh. Why am I telling him this?

‘You know, I think there’s a reason we dream of each other.’ Oh God, his face. It’s so beautiful, I have a strange urge to lick it.

He continues, ‘I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.’ His expression is earnest, like he’s really given this some thought.

‘Very deep Father.’

‘Actually, it’s a quote from Winnie the Pooh,’ his eyes are smiling.

Oh. Maybe he didn’t give it much thought then.

‘We wouldn’t have to be apart ever if you hadn’t made that choice.’ Why am I saying this? I’m with someone else.

‘You know I can’t,’ he sighs.

‘I know.’ I sigh too.

‘Besides, I have someone...’ I begin at the same time as he says, ‘you’re with someone anyway…’

We both cut our sentences short, laughing.

Suddenly he looks awkward, ‘well, I better be heading.’ He gestures towards the exit.

‘Oh, ok.’ Why am I disappointed?

‘It was nice seeing you.’ He’s already halfway down the aisle.


	2. "I wasn’t going to eat it, I was just going to taste it"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. This fic is way less smutty than the other one so apologies to anyone who came here looking for smut. There will probably be some at some point but for now you just get drunk Priest (i think he's a little cruel to Flea in this one, but dw, he'll regret it tomorrow).
> 
> Also, to those who know who i am, yes i want to lick Andrew Scott's face.
> 
> And to those who don't know who i am, yes i want to lick Andrew Scott's face.
> 
> Since the chances of me licking Andrew Scott's face are low, I am projecting that onto Fleabag who wants to lick Priest's face ;)
> 
> #Staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe folks!

**“I wasn’t going to eat it, I was just going to taste it. “ – Winnie the Pooh**

*****************

My fucking Godmother is interfering again.

Rich and I got back on track after the weird end to our dinner. I still haven’t said ‘I love you’. But he hasn’t brought it up again. He also hasn’t said it to me since that night. So, I know it’s stewing, he’ll bring it up at some point.

I’m still scared of saying it. And I know it’s to do with the priest. I told him I loved him after only a few weeks. And I was so sure. I didn’t even need him to say it back. _Even though he did._ But with a Rich it just doesn’t feel the same.

Anyway, Godmother is having an event. It’s at my dad’s house. She’s calling it the ‘Carnival of Carnal Desires: One woman’s journey into the art of lovemaking.’

I haven’t inquired any further into what exactly we will be seeing, but I know I won’t like it. Godmother has been frantic in her preparations. She’s forced Claire and Klare to come over from Finland for the weekend.

She asked Rich to be part of the display. After I told him about the wall of cocks from the Sexhibition, he politely declined. Then after the fifth time she asked, he forcibly declined and told me if she asked one more time, he would be getting a restraining order.

My relationship with Rich has stalled a bit. He spends a few nights at my place each week, when he used to spend almost every night. He’s stopped bringing up the weekend away he was planning to take me on. I think it’s a Cold War. Until I bring up those three words.

Whatever, it actually suits me fine. A beautiful man in my bed whenever I want and none of the boring commitment stuff. That’s what always bored me about Harry too. And all the boyfriends before Harry. They always wanted to come over talk and share emotions and I just wanted them to come over and make me cum.

There was only one man who didn’t bore me. He could have come over and talked to me about anything. He could have read out the dictionary line by line and I would have been on edge. He could have made me do anything and I would have gone along with it. Hell, I even read the bible for him.

It’s only been two weeks since I saw him at the supermarket and told him he was in my dreams. I haven’t dreamt about him at all since then. A small part of me wants to. Even if it’s perfectly PG. Even if the cockblocking force wakes me up before anything sexy happens. I just want to feel closer to him.

***

‘So, should I be scared for my safety at this event tonight?’ Rich is in the bathroom, applying sort of product to his hair.

I’ve been ready for ages, laying out on the bed whilst he faffs around.

‘I mean, you can never be too sure. But I think she’ll have all her artwork completed by now.’ Godmother did eventually give up asking Rich to partake in the display.

I fiddle with the duvet cover idly, ‘I wouldn’t put it past her trying to sneak you off to my old room and giving you a live display into the journey of lovemaking though.’

Rich sticks his head out of the bathroom and raises his eyes. ‘Even with your dad there?’

I snort, ‘maybe. She might take you both for the show.’

He comes out the bathroom. His freshly applied aftershave smells delicious. ‘You realise you just joked about your boyfriend having a threesome with your dad, right?’

_EW. Fuck, that’s disgusting._

‘Ha, I did not think that through.’ He’s standing by the bed. I pull at the bottom of his shirt, ‘how long have we got? Time for a quickie?’

‘Baby,’ I still haven’t told him to quit that nickname, ‘I literally just did my hair and got dressed. I think we need to head off now anyway.’

_Ugh._

‘Ugh, fine.’ I hop off the bed and grab my bag. ‘If this is awful, I’m blaming you.’

We make our way to the front door.

‘What!? She’s your stepmother.’

I turn back to him and point my finger into his chest. ‘Blaming you.’

He rests his arms on my shoulders. ‘Ok, tell you what. If it’s awful, you can catalogue the things you hate, and when we get home, you can punish me for them.’ He smirks.

I lean forward pressing my lips against his, ‘ooh I like the sound of that. Can we just pre-emptively do that now? I already know what I’ll hate.’

He twirls me round and pushes me gently down the path. ‘No! Now let’s go.’

_Ugh again._

He’s too nice to me. Makes me feel like an awful person for comparing my feelings for him to how I felt about the priest.

\-------------

It really is a carnival. She’s set it up in the back yard. There are life size casts of men and women’s bodies. I peer around, yep, looks like Harry participated again. There are paintings, sculptures, drawings.

There are nude models walking around providing drinks. There are live demonstrations of her favourite sex positions. This is fucked. I did not need to know that my Dad particularly enjoys cowgirl or that there is a position named the Irish Garden. I especially did not need to know that they have tried it.

 _I know someone I could have tried that one with._ The thought crosses my mind just as Rich kisses me and asks what I’d like to drink.

I shake the Irish man out of my head and ask for a white wine. Moving out into the garden, I find Claire and Klare and head over to them.

‘Helloooo my sister!’ Klare beams and walks towards me. He grabs my hands in his.

He has decided, since he and Claire are together non-stop, that I am now his family. It’s a bit weird, but I quite like it. I’m very fond of Klare and he makes Claire so happy.

He kisses me on both cheeks and looks around. ‘Where is Rich? My lovely brother.’ Ok, he’s taking the family metaphors too far now.

‘Oh, he’s getting us some drinks inside.’

Klare heads off to go find him and I say hello to Claire.

‘I have something I need to tell you,’ she’s talking low. She pulls me to the side of the garden.

Oh God. Whenever Claire gets like this, I feel like something bad is coming, something bad aimed straight at me.

Actually, the last time this happened was when she told me Martin wanted to sue me and she introduced me to the hot misogynist lawyer and I got nine mind blowing orgasms, so I guess it’s good and bad.

‘So, I just wanted to tell you, but I don’t want anyone else to know yet.’ She looks worried. I focus on her.

‘I’m pregnant, Klare and I are having a baby.’

_Oh fuck. Not what I expected._

‘Claire! That’s fantastic, are you happy? You look um...-‘

She breaks me off. ‘Yes! We are happy. We’re so happy. But you know we’ve been together for less than a year and we were worried...-‘

‘Oh fuck ‘em. If anyone gives you any trouble, tell me and I’ll knock them out. We all know I have a good right hook.’

She laughs. Relief crosses her face. I can’t believe she was worried about telling me that. She and Klare are perfect together, I practically forced them together in the first place.

Klare and Rich are headed back our way with drinks.

‘Please don’t tell anyone though, I mean Klare knows obviously, but we are keeping it quiet for a bit.’

‘Of course.’ I gesture zipping my lips. ‘I won’t even tell Rich.’

‘Oh, you can tell hi...- ‘

‘Lips are sealed.’

The men return and we get stuck into our drinks (Claire on a soda water) and begin our running discussion of Godmother’s fucking crazy live art.

***

The night is actually quite fun. It’s such a different vibe to the Sexhibition. When Claire accused me of kissing Martin, and I smashed a shit load of glasses in a tantrum. Claire and Klare are happy and jokey, Rich is getting tipsy and is getting handsier as the night wears on. I find I’m actually enjoying the whole thing.

At one-point Rich leans into me and whispers, ‘I hope you’re cataloguing everything you hate. I’ll be waiting for my punishment later,’ and I realise I haven’t hated anything.

Actually, I hated picturing my dad and Godmother doing it cowboy style. But I think I hate the idea of bringing _that_ particular gripe into my own sex life even more.

After a particularly amusing display named ‘(Fl)Oral arrangements for the flower fanatic’ (everything you need: vaginas, flowers that look like vaginas, advice on oral technique), I sneak off to the side of the house to have a cigarette. Rich doesn’t really approve of my smoking and I _have_ cut back since I’ve been with him. But you know when you have a drink, a nice little ciggie is just so enjoyable.

As I walk through the house searching for my bag containing my cigarettes, I try to convince myself that the Floral display really was amusing. The fact that it’s about my dad’s sex life means it HAS to be amusing otherwise it will bring me to tears.

And with that thought on my mind, as I round the corner to the side of the house, in a torturous replay of another time in my life, a figure twirls on the spot and cries out, ‘oh fuck me!’

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake_.

He raises his eyebrows.

_Did I say that out loud?_

‘Nice greeting.’ He says, taking a drag of a cigarette he is in the middle of.

_Ok I said that out loud._

‘Speak for yourself. I thought you didn’t really smoke.’ I am caught off guard. I don’t know what to say.

‘What? You thought that whole smoking thing was just a ploy to get to you, did you?’ his eyebrows go even further up.

‘Well…-‘

‘Yeah, it was.’ He laughs holding out his hands in a gesture of submission. His laugh is childlike. It’s cute. ‘I just wanted to get to know you.’

‘Oh well, fuck you.’ I light a cigarette and lean against the wall. ‘What are you doing anyway? Just hanging down the side of my dad’s house. You’re not at her ‘Carnival’, are you?’

‘No, this is just where I smoke…’ he laughs. ‘Of course, I fucking am, you eejit.’ I think he's a bit tipsy. ‘I don’t make a habit of hanging outside your dads place, sneaking an anxiety cigarette.’ His eyes are darting. He looks a bit wild.

‘An anxiety cigarette? I’m confused. I haven’t seen you all night. How long have you been here? Oh God,’ I put my hand on my forehead, ‘you’re not one of the pieces of art, are you?’

He takes an uncoordinated step back. Definitely tipsy.

‘No. Not through lack of your Godmother trying though. I’ve been at the ‘Carnival’ for a few hours actually. You were a bit too caught up with your man to notice I think.’

‘Oh.’ Rich has basically had his hand on my arse all night, and I have to say, I had been enjoying it. ‘You could have said hello though.’ I’m a little hurt he didn’t.

‘I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, your Godmother has been plying me with drinks and giving me a private escort around the place all night.’

Ah. Makes sense why I haven’t seen him. We’ve been strategically avoiding her, moving on whenever we heard her. Also makes sense why he’s looking a little drunk. She’s probably been feeding him constant booze in the hope that he may forget he’s a priest and stick his tongue down her throat.

He finishes his cigarette. ‘Can I have one of yours? I don’t want to go back yet.’

I nod and hold out the packet towards him. He takes a step towards me and takes the cigarette, leaning in so I can light it. His beautiful lips.

I pull myself together, he’s a bit too close for comfort. I take a sidestep away from him, ‘So, how come you didn’t tell me you were coming? I thought you’d want to avoid this.’ I gesture between the two of us.

He mirrors my sidestep, edging closer to me again. ‘Didn’t have your number.’

‘You had Claire’s.’

‘And you wanted me to ring up Claire and tell her what? Hey, remember me, the priest from your dads wedding, I’ll see you at the ‘Carnival’ tomorrow night. Just FYI.’ His eyes are alight, playful.

‘Well you could have done something.’

He leans closer to me, licking his lips. ‘I could have done something?’

I step back again. He must be much more than tipsy. Seems like he may have actually been sculling gin and tonics all night. I reach into my bag and grab a business card and pen and scribble my personal number onto the back. I slip it into the front pocket of his shirt.

‘Use this next time. For information purposes only ok?’

He leans closer, his brown eyes boring into mine.

‘Ok,’ he whispers. His face is inches from mine, he has backed me against the wall. ‘Information purposes only.’

I close my eyes and inhale. He smells just like I remember. It brings back memories of our last kiss, of him coming to my house. It feels like one of my dreams again. He’s so close I can hear his heart beating; I feel a rush of air by my temples as he places his hands on the wall either side of me. My cheeks feel hot.

I open my eyes again. I’m confronted by his face. The crinkles around his eyes, laughter lines, showing how much joy he has in his life. That soft bottom lip which he has a habit of licking as he talks, probably completely unaware of how many women he is sending into a frenzy as he does it during his sermons. And those eyes. Fuck me, those eyes. If there was ever a man who could make a girl cum with his eyes, this is the guy.

_Hey, maybe that’s how we could get around that problem of him not being physical with me. it could be his official wooing technique, taking eye fucking to the extreme._

He leans closer, his lips are so close, just one small movement and they’d be on mine.

‘Hey, does that boyfriend of yours make you go this red?’

I gaze at him. I wish he would just kiss me. He’s making me wet just standing this close to me. I lean my face up a little, moving my lips even closer.

He licks his bottom lip.

_THIS IS TORTURE._

Finally, after a little chuckle, he closes his eyes and –

The door opens. Fuck, someone is coming. 

He stops what he’s doing, eyes flicking to the side. Why isn’t he moving? I quickly shove him aside and move away from the wall as my boyfriend appears around the corner.

‘Hey baby, you’ve been gone a while. Everything ok?’ He eyes up the priest. Clearly suspicious of what we’ve been doing out here.

I place the back of my hands on my cheeks in an attempt to cool them down and begin walking towards Rich.

‘Oh hey, yeah I was just having a ciggie and catching up with an old friend.’ I wind my arms around Rich’s waist. I don’t look towards the priest. ‘He was the priest at my dad’s wedding.’

Rich’s face changes from one of murderous defensive boyfriend to a large grin. ‘Oh, a priest. Hey mate, how are you?’ he holds out his hand around me to shake the priest’s hand. I don’t look back, but I assume the Priest has taken Rich’s hand.

‘Hey, good to meet you,’ the priest says. He seems to have recollected himself, remembered who he is and where he is.

Rich grabs my shoulders, ‘so shall we head?’

‘Yep, sure,’ I smile up at him. I still can’t look back.

‘See you around,’ Rich calls to the Priest.

As we head back to find Claire and Klare, I think of the Priest, his face millimetres from mine, and try to convince myself that even if Rich hadn’t interrupted, I would have shut the interaction down. I wasn’t going to let it go too far, I just wanted a small taste.


	3. "I'm never afraid with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe everyone!

**“I’m never afraid with you.” – Winnie the Pooh**

I’m dreaming about Rich. He’s holding carrots, asking if I want them. Do I want them? Suddenly the carrots start vibrating. Oh, I want them now…

Wait, that’s not carrots vibrating. What is that?

I open my eyes and reach a heavy arm in front of me. It’s my phone. Vibrating on the side table. What time is it? Who calls at this hour?

‘Turn that fucking thing off,’ Rich mumbles blearily and shoves his pillow over his head. I grab the phone, it's an unknown number. And it’s 11am. Not as early as I thought then.

I hop out of bed and into the hallway to answer the phone.

‘I am so, so sorry,’ the voice on the other end says. My heart leaps in my chest. ‘I’m so sorry. I will make it up to you by never attending a single event anyone in your family or extended family holds ever again. No matter whether they come to my church and drag me there themselves.’

I lean against the wall in the hallway. What a way to be woken up. That lyrical Irish voice is like honey.

‘Maybe you could just not drink as much next time?’ I smile to myself.

‘No. I was so out of order last night. I don’t know what got into me,’ he sounds pretty cut up. I imagine him in his church, running his hands through his hair, replaying the encounter over in his head. Cursing himself for his behaviour.

I also replayed that encounter in my head. Over and over. Last night. Whilst Rich was on top of me.

Those deep brown eyes, just an inch from mine. His lips as he ran his tongue over them. His arms, either side of me as he leaned in. Rich probably thought he was at the top of his fucking game when I came last night. Poor bloke, thinking he was causing my enthusiastic screams. When in actuality, all I was doing was picturing a priest shoving his tongue down my throat.

‘It’s honestly ok. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’ I head into the kitchen to put the kettle on. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘I found it in my shirt pocket when I woke up this morning,’ he sounds like a little boy who is in trouble. Like he’s about to get the scolding of a lifetime. I hear noise in the background, like he’s taking clothing off?

‘Are you stripping for me father? Quick tip, if you want me to enjoy it, you gotta flick the FaceTime on.’

‘Ha ha,’ he doesn’t actually laugh. ‘No, I just had mass and confession and I am getting ready to go and confess myself. I just wanted to get your forgiveness before I go and get His.’

‘You don’t need to get my forgiveness. I enjoyed our little chat honestly.’ He sighs. ‘But,’ I quickly say, ‘if you want it, you have it. I forgive you.’

He sighs again. One of relief this time, I hope.

‘Thank you.’ I hear that genuine warmth in his voice. ‘And like I said, will not happen again.’

_Wish it would._

I hang up and take two cups of tea to my bedroom.

‘Wake up sleepy head,’ I coo to Rich.

‘Fuck off,’ comes a grunt from under the pillow.

_Charming._

_——-_

A few weeks pass. If I thought my relationship with Rich had stalled since the whole ‘I love you’ debacle then it is now positively going in reverse. He STILL hasn’t brought it up, but we have had so many micro arguments that I can’t keep track and I know I need to do something about it.

Each argument starts out exactly the same. We’ll go a few hours or maybe a day without seeing each other, I’ll go to his, or he’ll come to mine and we start out incredibly tactile and lovey. Then one of us makes one comment and it spirals into a ‘who can make the other feel like shit’ competition.

Honestly, I know I said I was enjoying the Cold War state of our relationship. A nice warm, sexy body and no emotions, but it’s all just too much now. The sex just doesn’t outweigh these stupid arguments anymore.

_Who am I?_

On Friday night, about a month after Godmothers Carnival, I invite Rich over and decide to cook him a meal. Actually, when I say ‘cook’, I mean I order in a nice pasta dish mid-afternoon, remove the takeout boxes and put it into the saucepan around five minutes before Rich arrives.

He unlocks the door with the keys I gave him and pokes his head round, ‘Mmmm smells delicious,’ he sings as he takes his jacket off.

Phwoar those arms are something.

_What was I saying earlier about the sex not being worth it?_

‘Yeah I hope it turns out nice,’ I stir the sauce as it bubbles, ‘it’s a new recipe.’

He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my head, ‘it will taste lovely.’

I set the table and serve up the dishes, grabbing the garlic bread out of the oven and a glass of chianti.

‘This is fancy,’ Rich says after we cheers. ‘What’s up babe?’

_Ugh._

‘Oh, I just thought it would be nice to have a nice evening in you know? I feel like we’ve been a bit off track recently.’

He takes a bite of his pasta. ‘Shit this _is_ good.’ I raise my eyebrows. He continues, ‘yeah well I think we both know why we’re a bit off, don’t we?’

He downs his glass and pours another one out.

‘Uh, well...’ Jesus. Should I just say I love him. Even if it’s not true?

He sits back in his chair, glass in hand, eyeing me.

‘You know I love spending time with you.’

He looks down at his plate, the tops of his ears have gone slightly red. That’s how I always know when we’re headed into argument territory.

‘What I mean is, I love being with you and...’

‘You love spending time with me, you love being with me... blah blah blah.’

He shovels some more pasta into his mouth.

‘Oh, for fuck sake,’ I snap. ‘What do you want from me? To tell you I love you.’ I slam my hands on the table. ‘I love you, there are you happy?’

He stands up abruptly, spilling some wine down his shirt. ‘Happy? Oh yeah I’m very happy,’ his voice is dripping with sarcasm. ‘My emotionally closed off girlfriend who would rather fuck me senseless than let me ask her about her past, has just screamed at me that she loves me to ‘make me happy.'

He puts down his glass and walks towards the door. ‘I’m so fucking happy, it hurts babe.’ He grabs his coat.

‘Look, thanks for the dinner. Real nice, although I’m pretty sure you didn’t cook it. I gotta head off. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He pulls open the door and heads off down my pathway.

_Oh fuck._

It all happens so quickly; I sit in a daze for a few minutes. I think I’m half expecting him to come back, but he doesn’t.

I grab the bottle of wine and head over to the couch, flopping down into the cushions.

Well, that was fucked. Another argument. Arising from nothing. And only one hour into the evening.

I have to admit this one escalated though. He doesn’t usually leave. Usually he would just go sulk in the bedroom and pretend to be asleep until I could convince him to open his eyes and have sex with me.

This is new.

I sit on the couch, contemplating the evening. I told him I loved him. That was a lie. He called me emotionally closed off. Probably true. He told me he didn’t believe I had cooked the pasta. The bastard. 

_What a dickhead._

A few hours and another bottle later, I realise he’s definitely not returning and decide to head up to bed. I grab my phone. It’s been on the coffee table all night. I thought he might call me at least. Let me know where he was.

I don’t know what makes me do it. I’ll blame it on the bottle and a half of wine I’ve drank, plus the margaritas I was drinking all afternoon as I danced around the flat singing to Take That (Garry is a hunk, Robbie’s a sexy dickhead). Anyway, not sure what makes me do it but I unlock my phone and pull up my recent calls. I never saved the number. But I know which one it is.

‘Hullo?’ he sounds confused. I check my watch, 11pm. Shit maybe he was sleeping.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?’

‘Oh,’ he pauses. ‘it’s you.’

‘It’s me. No need to sound so thrilled Father.’

‘Sorry, I just wasn’t… - I wasn’t expecting you to call.’

‘Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have…- ‘

‘No, you shouldn’t have.’

_Ouch._ Second rejection in one night.

‘Ok,’ I sigh. ‘Sorry, I’ll let you go.’ I hit the hang up button quickly and throw my phone down. What a downer. I head to the kitchen, rooting around until I find hidden bottle of vodka. It’s nestled behind the rice. As I pore some into a tumbler, I’m disheartened by the fact that the ten second phone call rejection has most definitely hit me harder than my boyfriend walking out on me mid dinner date.

I grab my vodka and amble back to the sofa, my phone is lit up and vibrating. I snatch it up. It’s an unknown number. I hit accept and listen.

‘Fuck you.’

It’s him. The gulp of straight vodka I downed hits me. I feel a bit dizzy.

‘Fuck you!’ he says again, I can hear the smile. I can imagine it. It would be in his eyes too. He always smiles with his eyes.

‘Hi, who is this?’ I say, taking another sip.

‘Fuck you.’

‘Jeez, if you really insist. Come on over.’

He laughs. For real this time. ‘You called me. You didn’t even give me ten seconds. Why did you hang up?’ he demands, voice mock angry.

‘You told me I shouldn’t have called!’ I defend myself, eyes wide.

‘I said you shouldn’t have; I didn’t say I didn’t want you to.’

My heart leaps. He wanted me to call. I lie back on the sofa, knees curled up to my chest, phone pressed against my ear. If people were emojis, at this very moment, I am that one with the heart eyes.

‘So,’ I think he’s moving around. ‘What’s up? To what do I owe this pleasure?’

‘Well, I…-,’ I scrunch my body up more, hugging my knees.

‘Go on.’ He laughs, more movement.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Well, when you rang I was laying in the dark trying to sleep. But now I am looking in my cupboard for a G&T.’

I bite my lip, I try not to picture him in his bedroom, laying solo in his bed. ‘You’re drinking to get through this chat with me?’

I hear the can open. ‘I’m drinking,’ he takes a sip, ‘because I can tell by your voice that you have been too, and I liked the idea.’

His voice is entrancing. I wonder, if I asked, would he just read me a story as I lay here. ‘Ah ok. Yeah I've been drinking.’

He laughs. ‘No shit. So, come on. I’m sure you didn’t accidentally dial my number. What’s up?’

I cringe slightly. But then suddenly, like we're back to normal, back to before, back to when I could just talk to him and he would be there, listening, I’m telling him everything. I tell him about how Rich and I have been arguing. I tell him how he is pressuring me to show more emotion, take the relationship forward. I tell him about the arguments we have been having recently. Always centred around one thing.

‘And,’ I think he may be on his second gin. ‘ _Do_ you love him?’

I sit for a second. I feel a sudden wave of regret for divulging my relationship with Rich to another man. But then I remember his face. My priest. He’s not just another man.

‘It’s ok,’ he says softly down the phone, ‘you can tell me.’

I think he took my silence as hesitation to admit my feelings. Maybe he thought I was sparing his.

‘No.’ I whisper.

I hear him suck in his breath.

‘No. I don’t love him. Tonight, I just said it. To try and stop these fights. But I don’t.’ He is silent. ‘Didn’t work anyway, didn’t end the fight. Made it worse if anything.’ I sigh.

He ponders for a second. ‘These fights. Does he scare you? Does he get aggressive? Are you afraid?’

It feels… churchy.

‘Afraid?’ I muse. ‘No, he wouldn’t hurt me. He only gets loud and shouty, never violent. I’m not afraid.’ I pause. I prop myself up and look for my glass. I need vodka for this.

‘I’m afraid I’ll never be able to love him. Afraid I won’t be able to love him like I’ve loved in the past, like I still love,’ I pause. Ah there’s my vodka. I can hear him breathing down the phone. ‘I was never afraid with you.’

He’s silent.

_Shit._

‘Shit,’ he says.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. I realise I’m crying and fiercely wipe my face.

‘I’m sorry too.’


	4. "It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine.” – Eeyore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe folks!
> 
> Thanks for the comments :)

**"It never hurts to keep looking for sunshine.” – Eeyore**

******

Rich is gone. I’d say it was mutual, but I think he probably cared a lot more about the whole thing than I did. He came by the day after our fight, saying he was going to give me space. He marched around the flat on a mission, picking up the belongings he had accumulated at mine over the last 7 months.

I don’t think I really said anything. I just sat on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, crappy tv show paused on the TV, whilst he ranted about all the reasons we had to cool it off. How I was being unfair to him, how he needed to clear his head.

Actually, the whole thing kind of reminded me of when Harry used to leave. Except Harry at least used to clean the flat. Rich just looked at me with narrow, cruel eyes and said, ‘you need to work out what you feel. Sometimes I think there’s no real emotion at all under there.’ He grabbed his pec dramatically as he said ‘there’. I’ll probably miss that pec. His body really is delicious.

It was all quite amusing really. Or it would have been, had a certain phone call not happened the night before. Had I not spent the entire day reliving my conversation with the priest. A gloom settling over me whilst I thought through his response to my twisted declaration of love.

‘Shit’

\---------------

Right now, I’m leaning against counter at Hilary’s watching a group of twenty something women have brunch and Instagram the shit out of it. I think they know I’m staring. I’m not being particularly subtle. The ringleader has a mass of chocolate brown hair, massive tits and a sizeable arse. She keeps shrieking about what ‘Darren’ will say when he sees her new tattoo. And the one next to her, with the blond bob, keeps asking whether ‘Robbie’ likes her just because he viewed her story.

‘I mean, he didn’t respond, but he saw it. He wouldn’t watch it unless he liked me, right?’

Her friends are assuring her he likes her a lot. Too much probably. He’s scared of his own feelings.

I wonder how many doomed relationships they have gotten themselves into. I bet Darren and Robbie are off out shagging some other girls as we speak.

The bell rings and Joe, my chatty regular, comes in.

‘Hello lovey,’ he cheerily greets me and sits at the table near the counter.

‘Morning Joe,’ I sigh and rotate my body towards him, still leaning my entire top half across the counter.

‘You a bit glum, darl?’ he takes his hat off. ‘Make me my regular and tell me all about it.’

‘Cup of tea and a slice of treacle pie, Joe?’

‘Course love. Now what’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing much. Just having a day, I suppose.’

It’s Sunday. Fairly busy. The café is still doing quite well, especially on the weekends. And on Wednesdays of course.

I take Joe his cup of tea over, he takes it with so much milk that it basically looks like cat’s piss, but to each their own I suppose. As I place the saucer on the table, Joe looks up from his crossword and places his hand on mine.

‘I hate to see you looking down lovey.’ I glance down at our hands, he has very thin skin, lots of veins on show.

‘I know Joe. I’ll be fine,’ I plaster a wide grin across my face.

_Shit._

He taps my hand and then moves it to his tea, ‘it never hurts to keep looking for sunshine darl. Especially when you’re in the clouds.’

Around an hour before closing, I get a call.

‘Hi,’ comes the curt greeting after I pick up. ‘what are you doing tomorrow, I’ll be in London, I need help with picking out dresses.’

It’s my sister. She and Klare are getting married. Now that they are having a baby, they’re moving at lightning speed. He proposed whilst they were on a weekend away to Oslo. On some sort of Fjord trip. I don’t know. I can't remember the details.

Anyway, typical Claire, she is now in frantic wedding mode, her divorce from Martin finalised a few months ago, she wants a wedding to happen before she starts to show. Knowing her, she’ll probably be one of those women looks like she could just be slightly bloated at nine months.

I made her promise NOT to use a Catholic priest. Klare isn’t particularly religious and God knows we aren’t, so she laughingly agreed to my request. I don’t think she quite realised how hurt I had been by that whole debacle. I’m pretty sure she just thinks I won’t be able to keep it in my pants around _any_ religious figure.

Now it looks like we’re going wedding dress shopping tomorrow. I wonder if she’d like to have our mother here.

‘Do not tell her.’ Claire is saying down the phone. ‘She’ll invite herself and make me try on something hideous.’

She means our God/Stepmother of course. She’s still a complete cunt.

‘Why on earth would I tell her?’ I ask, ‘she’s a complete cunt.’

‘I know, I don’t know. Don’t tell Dad.’

‘Claire, do you remember who you’re talking to?’

‘Right. Yes.’ I can tell she is bored of this conversation, already planning her next call in her mind. ‘Ok, well I’ll meet you at your place tomorrow at 9, does that work?’

_Ugh nine. Feels like the middle of the night._

‘Sure,’ I smile down the phone. Joe grins at me encouragingly.

‘My sister,’ I say to him as I end the call. ‘Getting married.’

‘Lovely. You on your way up the aisle yet? What about that boy of yours?’

‘Nah, we broke up. He couldn’t keep up with me.’ I joke.

‘Only the best can keep up, darl.’ Joe settles back into his crossword.

\------------------

The next day, I’m sitting with a glass of champagne in hand waiting for Claire to come out in her fourth dress. She looks amazing in them all. Obviously.

‘I’m not sure,’ she calls from behind the curtain.

‘Oh deary, it looks absolutely divine,’ the white-haired dress fitter assisting her says.

I take a large sip of my bubbles. ‘Just come out,’ I call impatiently.

I think back to the last time I was on this side of the curtain, waiting for someone to show me their outfit. It was with him.

_Shit._

Claire appears in a flourish. She has on an A line dress, ivory with a lovely beaded bodice. Of course, she looks fantastic.

‘I don’t like the beading,’ she isn’t smiling.

‘Ok…-,’ I have learnt, after a couple of fuck ups at the previous shop, that the route to success here is to not declare my own opinion too strongly. I just have to listen to Claire and echo her thoughts. I mean, if she looks like an absolute disaster, I’ll tell her of course and bear the consequences. But, the fastest route forward here, is to just sip my champagne and nod.

‘I like the shape,’ she twirls and inspects the skirt.

‘Yes A-line fits you beautifu-‘ the assistant chimes in before quickly closing her mouth after a killer glare from Claire.

‘I’ll just leave you to chat,’ the assistant backs off through the curtains.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Claire dismisses her. She turns to me, ‘what if it was you?’

‘What if what was me?’

‘Getting married. Would you choose this?’

‘Who am I getting married to?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Rich, I suppose.’

‘You know we broke up,’ I had regaled the events of Friday night to her in the last shop. Well, most of them. There was a small part about a phone call that I missed out.

She fixes me with a withering stare. I’m probably being a tad difficult here, but what the heck.

I eye her back.

‘Ok, fine,’ she’s inspecting herself in the floor length mirror. ‘Who was before him then?’

I hear a sharp intake of breath. Who was that?

_Oh, it was me._

Claire looks down at me. ‘Oh. It was the priest. I suppose that doesn’t really work does it.’

I glance down at my champagne, willing her to change the conversation.

After a couple of seconds, I look up, she’s still staring right at me.

_Shit._

Suddenly, I want to tell her. I’ve never spoken to anyone about the bus stop. The way it ended. Me knowing exactly what he was going to say, balancing precariously on the verge of a life without him. Him grabbing my hand, tears in his eyes as he told me it would pass.

Back then, when Claire finally extricated herself from her Klare love bubble, and asked me about ‘my priest’, I just told her it had run its course and I wouldn’t be seeing him again. She had accepted it, too wrapped up with Klare to probe any deeper. By that time, I had met Rich anyway. We just did what my family always does. Ignore a problem until it fades away.

But now, eight months and another failed relationship on, I desperately want to tell her.

I glance back down into my champagne, willing the tears that seem to have formed not to fall, before looking back up at her.

It’s like she knows I’m going to tell her something big. It all seems a little crazy, she’s standing in a wedding dress, one hand fondling the necklace Klare gave her, the other resting gently on her hip, giving me space. Space to tell her all about my doomed love affair with a Catholic priest.

I take a deep breath, ‘you know I was in love with him, right?’

‘What?!’

‘The priest.’

‘ _Your_ priest.’

‘Yes.’ I take a large gulp of champagne. ‘I loved him. Of course, I loved him.’

‘You only knew him for a few weeks.’

I just stare back at her.

She shakes her head. ‘But he’s a… priest.’

‘Yes, we knew that at the time.’

‘And... well. I don’t know. I mean. He’s a fit priest.’

‘Yeah...’

‘But a priest. Did you two…’

‘Have sex? Yes.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Not in the church?’

I let out a small laugh. ‘He came to my flat. He got my address from you.’

‘Oh, yes. I remember that.’ She shakes her head.

We’re silent. I’m remembering him turning up on my doorstep, in the middle of a thunderstorm. I wonder, for the umpteenth time, if that hot lawyer hadn’t shown up in the middle of his speech, would that night have gone differently? Probably not.

‘Did he love you too?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘He told you he loved you?’ She’s incredulous.

‘Yes, he did.’

I glance down at the bubbles in my glass. She sits down beside me, her dress billowing up around her.

‘I thought you were just after him because he was... well you know... a priest. I was just glad you were fucking with _her_.’ She means Godmother of course.

‘Maybe that was part of the initial attraction.’

_It wasn’t._

‘But I don’t know. He listened to me. He didn’t judge a single thing I did or said. He was funny and kind. And he was so beautiful. ‘

‘Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean you have to shag it.’

I laugh, ‘Come on Claire.’ And then suddenly I am crying.

She grabs my hand. ‘Oh, I’m sorry you’re in pain. Still. I’m so sorry.’

I’m bawling now. Mascara is running down my face. The dressing lady flits in. She’s probably worried about the dress. Claire fixes one of her cold hard death stares and she hurries back out again.

‘He said it would pass. And it hasn’t. When will it?’

She wraps her arm around my shoulder, rocking me like our mother used to. She’s never done this with me before.

We sit for a few minutes as my tears subside. She still has me held tightly in her arms. It’s so soothing.

‘Can you tell me something?’ she says after a while.

‘Anything.’

‘What was he like in the sack?’

_Not what I expected._

‘Klare thinks he was probably very gentle, but I can’t help but think he lasted 10 seconds and then ran off to confess.’

‘Claire!’ I can’t believe they’ve been discussing my sex life. Especially Klare, he seems so wide eyed and innocent.

I laugh despite myself. Claire joins in and the dresser takes the opening.

She swoops to our level, ‘hello, dear. Maybe you could change out of that if you aren’t too keen.’

Claire lets go of me and stands up. I’m guessing she’s realised how rude she was to the dresser and is now feeling terrible about it. I hope she doesn’t take it out on me.

I finish my champagne whilst she changes and check my reflection in the mirror.

_God, I look awful._

Claire returns, back in her normal clothes and takes a card from the assistant.

‘I’ll be back another day,’ she says. ‘Just need some time to reflect on what I liked.’

‘Thank you dear. It was a pleasure meeting you and your friend.’

‘Sister,’ I correct instinctively.

‘And friend,’ Claire glances at me.

I grin back at her.

We’re heading to lunch now. Claire wants to carry on our priest confession session. And to be honest, I’m already starting to feel better with it out in the open now.

As we’re walking down the road, I remember Claire’s question, ‘To answer you, he was an absolute God in bed.’

‘Your priest was a sex God? That’s new.’

‘Best I’ve ever had,’ I confirm as we head off to find a café.


	5. “Any day spent with you is my favourite day. So, today is my new favourite day.” - Winnie the Pooh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Thanks for reading, let me know your thoughts. Stay safe folks!

**“Any day spent with you is my favourite day. So, today is my new favourite day.” - Winnie The Pooh**

  
***  
  


I’m fucked.

I’m fucked.

My Godmother has bent me over and fucked me. Sorry for that image. Actually, I’m not. If I have to experience this, you have to live with that image.

She’s holding a ‘christening type’ celebration for Claire and Klare’s new baby.

Their wedding went off without a hitch, thank God. Nice and small, no priests, I went home with the barman at the reception. Perfect.

Then, only a few months and, as expected, a very small bump later, Claire had her baby. He’s a lovely little guy. Very smiley like Klare. I like that he lives in Finland. Means I’ll only have to see him once a month or so.

Now that he’s a few months old, Godmother has finally persuaded Claire to come over to London and have a little christening party for him. Really, she just wants an excuse to gather her friends and have them comment on how young she is to be a grandma. But she’s dressing it up as a nice gift for Claire. She’s such a cunt.

And now to the reason I’m fucked. Claire likes the idea of a ‘christening type’ celebration and has propelled that idea forward into a real christening.

And _he’s_ conducting the ceremony.

And, to make matters worse, since Claire isn’t in England, Godmother is doing the planning of the whole affair and the evil cow is making me help. And that means I have to meet with him and discuss arrangements.

I AM FUCKED.

***

She called me last week, I ignored it three times and finally on the fourth, I picked up in case it was something to do with dad.

‘Finally!’ She exclaimed down the phone. ‘Honestly, you girls. Always out and about.’

‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ she simpered. ‘Listen, I’m planning the christening and I need you to help,’

‘The christening? For who? Have you had a baby?’

‘Of course not, although God knows if getting pregnant was just about sexual appetite, I would have had ten by now.’

_Ugh._

‘For Claire and Klare of course.’

I didn’t reply. Best response is to just block her out. What a witch.

‘So, on Thursday, you’ll meet with him,’ she was saying when I zoned back in.

‘What?’ I picked up the newspaper in front of me. Joe had left it at the café earlier in the day.

‘Thursday,’ she repeated. ‘I need you to pick up the flowers...’

‘Yep, yep.’ The crossword on the paper wasn’t quite finished, my eyes fell on 3 down: ‘clergyman in Christian church (6)’

‘…and you need to arrange for the gown…’ Godmother blathered on.

‘Sexgod,’ I muttered to myself, eyes on the crossword clue.

‘…and then I need you to meet with the priest.’

_WHAT?!_

‘The priest?’

‘Yes, we need to sort out the details.’

‘What priest? Why are we having a priest?’

‘The priest from our wedding of course. It’s on trend. Exactly what Claire wants.’

‘She said she wanted a priest? She’s not religious.’ My heart was beating fast.

She ignored me, ‘so you’ll go to meet him. I haven’t quite pinned him down yet, but I’ll talk him round.’

‘Why do _I_ need to meet him?’ I was panicking.

He wouldn’t say yes to this, surely. He’d talk his way out of it. We hadn’t spoken since that drunken phone call. That was nearly eight months ago. But he wouldn’t agree to have us in his church.

Godmother was still blabbering on. ‘Well your father and I are in Sweden for the Carnival this week, so we can’t do it.’

‘Can’t you do it the week after?’

‘Absolutely not. We need to get these details firmed. Anyway, I’ll text you the details for everything. Thursday ok?’

And then she hung up.

And I’m fucked.

It’s now Wednesday night. I have tried countless excuses to get out of carrying out my list of errands tomorrow, but every single time, she just batted me away.

I called Claire a few days ago. Over the noise of a crying two month old, she told me to flat out refuse Godmother’s instructions.

But the thing is, I think Claire actually wants this christening to happen. She’s brought it up a couple of times on our weekly calls. She likes the idea of him being christened because she thinks it’ll bring him closer to mum. So I can’t just flat out refuse.

I pick up my phone now and dial her number.

‘Hi,’ she picks up. For once, she isn’t accompanied by a wailing child in the background.

‘Hi, good time?’

‘It is actually, Klare has him.’

‘Ok,’ I lay back on the bed.

I hear her sigh. ‘Look, if you don’t want to do it, just don’t go. We can find someone else to do the ceremony.’

‘You could try, I bet she wouldn’t let you.’

‘We would. Honestly.’

‘I got my hair done today.’

I hear a sharp intake of breath, ‘did you go to Anthony?’

‘Yes, he did a really nice job actually.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you get it done?’

Now it’s my turn to sigh. ‘I don’t know. Didn’t know what else to do.’

‘It’s been…’ she pauses, ‘over a year and a half since… you know.’

_The bus stop._

‘Yeah.’

‘And you said you were over him.’

_Actually, what I said was he’s not the only one I picture when I have a wank. For a while, I couldn’t get him out my head, but now I like to think about that Aussie bloke from Avengers as well._

‘So,’ she continues, clearly taking my silence as agreement. ‘You can go and see him. Have a quick chat about the christening and you’ll be out in ten minutes.’ A pause, ‘you can, can't you?’

‘Yeah. I guess. It's just weird. Do you think he knows I’m the one coming to meet him? I wonder why he hasn’t texted.’

‘Might not have your number?’

‘He has my number.’

‘Maybe he knows you’re coming and didn’t think he needed to text?’

‘Ouch.’ That was oddly gut wrenching to hear.

‘No, no, I mean, maybe he just thinks you two can have a nice chat.’

‘Maybe. He banned me from his church,’ I bite my lip. In the background, I hear a gurgle.

‘Oh, oh, they’re up,’ Claire sings, elongating the word ‘up’. I expect the singing was more for her sons benefit than mine.

‘Ok,’ she’s all business now. ‘Klare’s here. Let me know how it all goes ok? You will be fine.’ And with that she dials off.

I sigh and stare at my phone. What did I expect? We’re still working on our relationship; she’s trying to be supportive and we talk much more. But she’s still Claire.

I switch off the light. Better get my sleep before I go and meet with him. I am definitely over him.

\---------

I'm not over him.

Oh God.

It’s the next morning, I have been to the florist, and am now walking up the aisle in the church to meet the priest. He’s up at the front, arms folded, all in black except for his collar. He’s chatting to Pam. She’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. She’s got her arm on his elbow.

He looks good. He looks really good. Well, he’s mostly facing away from me, so I can't actually see his face, but from the back, boy does he look good.

As I make my way up the aisle, I can hear him laugh at something Pam has said. If he knows I'm coming, he doesn’t seem to be worried about it.

I’m so on edge today. I spent longer than usual getting dressed. I didn’t know whether to wear something he’d seen me in before, or something new. It’s not something I would usually bother with. I’m just not really feeling myself. In the end, I settled on a denim skirt and maroon cashmere sweater. It’s cold out. So, when I was leaving, I had a minute of deliberating over whether I should wear my trench coat, the one he…

Well, you remember.

In the end, I couldn’t find anything else to wear, so I am wearing the trench coat. I don’t expect he’ll remember it. He was probably more focussed on the fact I was wearing no clothes underneath it.

_I wonder if he remembers that._

I reach the last pew and Pam finally moves her eyes from him to glance at me.

‘Hello dear, are you hear for a confession? We’re out of hours at the moment.’

He is turning.

‘Um no, actually,’ I begin.

He freezes. His body is half angled towards me.

‘I have an appointment with the priest,’ I finish as he finally faces me.

_Shit._

He wasn’t expecting me. I can tell by the look in his eyes. They’re wide, darting. Like he wants to escape.

Pam glances at him questioningly.

He shakes his head, recomposing himself. ‘Ah, yes,’ he reaches out his hand to shake mine. ‘I was expecting your sister actually. Claire was it?’

His hand is suspended between us. Why does he want to shake my hand?

Pam is glancing between us.

_Shit._

I realise I’ll have to reciprocate. I reach out and take his hand. It looks casual, but it sends a shock through me. A jolt. Like he has one of those prank zappers in his hand and thought now would be the perfect time to prank me. I pull my hand back quickly.

He does too and lifts his hand to run his fingers through his hair. ‘Ok then,’ he turns, ‘it’s you.’

I smile awkwardly. ‘It’s me.’

‘Well, Pam,’ he rubs his hands together and rocks slightly on his heels, ‘we’ll be in the office if you need me.’ He heads off towards the back of the church. He doesn’t glance back.

I half smile at Pam, she is grinning back at me. I feel like it’s the kind of grin a lion gives before it pounces on its prey. Not so much a grin as a baring of teeth.

‘Ok, well I’ll just be…’ I point in the direction of the priest and follow him through.

When I reach the vestry, he’s standing at the far end, leaning against the radiator.

‘So, it’s...’ he begins.

‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew it would be me,’ I say quickly. ‘I was expecting you to text me, but you didn’t, so I figured you were ok with it.’

He pushes himself off the radiator and paces towards the chair, ‘I didn’t know,’ he says simply before sinking into it.

I walk uneasily to the chair opposite him. He is looking down at the desk. He seems to be absentmindedly flicking through the pages of a bible, but there’s something off about his posture. It’s oddly rigid.

When I sit, he looks up at me and gives me a lopsided grin. ‘So, you had a baby. You’re here to arrange a baptism? I’m surprised.’ He drops the bible shut, ‘I thought you were a devout atheist.’

_What?_

‘A baby? God no,’ I gesture at my stomach maniacally with my hands. ‘No baby here thanks.’

He furrows his brow.

‘Besides,’ I continue, ‘If I had a baby and wanted it christened, do you really think I’d bring it here?’

Now it’s his turn to look shocked. ‘What? Why are you… well why are you here then? I thought we were discussing a baptism.’

_God, his beautiful eyes._

‘We are, it’s Claire’s baby.’

‘Oh,’ he laughs, his shoulders fall slightly, like he’s let some tension out of his body.

He rolls his eyes slightly, ‘so, I was right to expect Claire. Your stepmother, she just kept saying “my daughter had a baby” and “my daughter will come and talk to you” and I don’t know. I just assumed Claire. And then you showed up.’

_My daughter?_

‘She called us her daughters? Fucking bitch.’

He laughs again. It’s melodic.

_I am so not over him._

‘Yeah. She called me about three hundred times. I declined. Over and over. I swear,’ he’s looking defensive.

‘I believe you.’

_I really do._

‘Yeah, she managed to beat me into submission.’

I raise my eyebrow.

He laughs again, ‘stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Whatever you’re thinking.’

_I like this._

‘Ok,’ he claps his hands softly, ‘what do we need to discuss?’

God, I am not good at this kind of thing. There is a reason that no one asks me to arrange things. What _do_ we need to discuss?

_His beautiful arms._

‘It’ll be here,’ he has pulled out a little diary. ‘on Sunday the,’ he flicks a few pages forward, ‘twenty-fourth, during the Eucharist.’

He glances up, looking at me questioningly.

_His beautiful neck._

‘Uh, yep.’

‘Ok,’ he laughs gently. ‘And Godparents?’

Ok something I do know.

‘Me.’

‘You?’

‘Yep. Me.’ I flash my best pious smile at him.

‘Ok… you know at least one Godparent needs to be a practicing Catholic?’

‘Yes, the other one is Catholic.’

‘Ok and is he your…?’ his eyes flick down towards my lips.

‘My what?’

‘Well it’s typical for the parents to select Godparents who are…’

‘He isn’t my boyfriend.’

He sits back in his chair, ‘ah ok.’

‘Ok.’

‘And,’ he has his pen in his hand, twiddling it between his fingers. ‘How is that? You know… When we last spoke, you were having some trouble.’

_Shit._

When we last spoke, I told him I didn’t love my boyfriend, and that I still loved him.

‘Oh, we broke up. The day after you and I last spoke actually.’ I try to sound light.

‘Ah.’

At that moment, Pam bursts into the room, ‘Father, father. The Gladwell’s are here. They’ve brought some items for the fete at the weekend.’

A fete? Just a few days after I am visiting his church? Again? Odd timing.

_Seems contrived._

‘Ok Pam,’ he looks a little irritated at the interruption. ‘Well, you can take care of it, can you?’

‘Father, they have brought A LOT of items.’

He puts the pen down and stands up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Well ok then, I think we were done here, were we?’ he looks at me, eyes not quite reaching mine.

‘I think so. I don’t know.’

‘Yep, well, we need to arrange some preparation classes with your sister, but she can call me to arrange that.’

‘Ok,’ I stand up and grab my bag.

‘Actually,’ Pam turns towards me, ‘you could help us bring these boxes in dearie.’

‘Oh, I don’t think…’ the priest begins just as I plonk my bag back down and say ‘ok.’

I don’t know why, but I don’t want to leave yet.

We traipse out to the front of the church where a rather good-looking blond guy, and his equally attractive wife are setting down a number of cardboard boxes.

‘Hi father,’ the man calls out as we approach. ‘I’m so sorry we’re just dumping this stuff on you, but Cheryl here wanted a clear out and we knew you had your bric-a-brac sale on at the weekend.’

The priest heads towards the couple, shaking the hot guys hand and brushing his arm on the woman’s shoulder.

‘You’re very kind,’ he says, glancing around at the boxes, ‘we’re grateful for all the help we can get.’

‘Oh, no problem Father. Happy to help.’

The couple jump into their car and head off.

‘Ok, nine boxes, three people, three trips?’ he looks at me and Pam.

‘Sounds good,’ I grab the box nearest me and head towards the church.

When all the boxes are inside, the priest turns to me, ‘well, thanks for helping. Like I said, Claire can call with any other details for the baptism.’

I turn to grab my bag again just as Pam says, ‘actually dear, would you be able to stay and help sort these out? I’d do it, but I need to visit my son this afternoon. He just had a baby,’ she beams at the priest.

_Oh God._

I _was_ enjoying myself. But this is getting a bit much now. I begin to make my excuses, accompanied by the protests of the priest, highlighting how he really does not need help, but Pam just grins at us both and heads out of the vestry.

I turn awkwardly to the priest. ‘I guess I could help,’ I glance around at the boxes piled up.

‘Oh, you don’t have to. I’m sure you have places to be.’

I think of my jampacked schedule of errands, arranged by Godmother. As well as making some arrangements for Claire, the witch has also instructed me to pick up some art material for her next piece, collect an order she placed at Victoria’s Secret (disgusting) and return some library books she has held onto for too long (amongst them ‘She comes first’, ‘Sex at dawn’ and ‘Becoming Cliterate’).

I smile at the priest. Fuck her and her errands. As dangerous as spending more time here might be, I think I’d rather brave it than pick up her new lingerie set.

‘I can help,’ I say, taking a deep breath.

***

An hour or so later, we have unpacked most of the boxes. After a bit of awkward chat at the beginning, we are mostly silent, every now and then catching each other’s eye as we pull something particularly hideous or odd from one of the boxes. There were actually some nice clothes hidden in one of them. I would probably have nicked a couple of pieces if he wasn’t here. Good job he is, his God would probably smite me on my way home if I snuck off with the beret I found.

As I continue pulling clothes out of the box, sorting into piles of ‘sellable’ and ‘disgusting’, I glance over at him. He’s by the window, sorting through a pile of toys from one of the boxes. He’s picked up a children’s book and is flicking through it, pushing the buttons on each page that make the noise of a different farmyard animal. His eyes are crinkled, he’s laughing to himself at the sound of the pig.

_Ugh, so beautiful._

I imagine him as a dad. I don’t even really care for children, but I honestly think if he was playing with a kid now, the sight would make me implode out of sheer thirst.

As I’m idly toying with the thought of the priest as a father, I pull out a pair of black boxers from the box in front of me. I’m holding them in front of me and about to throw them straight into the ‘disgusting’ pile, when I hear the priest begin to laugh, ‘oh my God.’

He drops his book and strides towards me, still grinning. ‘Look at these,’ he yanks the boxers out of my hands and turns them.

Now I can see the front, I can’t help but burst out laughing. The front is covered with a large picture of a blond lady. She’s grinning, her mouth right over the crotch of the boxers. It’s a picture of the wife who dropped the boxers off earlier. I burst out laughing.

The priest is laughing uncontrollably. He takes the boxers and uses the edge to wipe tears from his eyes. I snatch them away, ‘gross, you don’t know if these are clean!’

His shoulders are shaking, ‘I don’t care. I can't believe this. I won’t be able to keep a straight face when the Gladwell’s come into mass on Sunday.’

He sits on one of the boxes, and I lean on the table as we both continue to cackle at the accidental donation.

I’m pretty hysterical now. The whole situation is funny, but I think part of it is a release of tension. It’s been building up in me all afternoon as I watched him sort boxes and now it feels like it’s springing out of me in feverish laughter.

Eventually, after a couple of minutes, our laughter subsides, and he’s watching me as I wipe the tears from my eyes.

‘Thank you,’ he says, arms folded across his chest.

‘Thank you for what?’ his eyes are so intense on mine.

‘For staying and helping. And for making me laugh.’ He stands up off the box and walks back towards the window. ‘I haven’t laughed like that in ages,’ he says as he bends down and begins to clear some items to the side of the room.

‘That’s ok,’ I smile.

_Neither have I, actually._

I place the last pile of clothes on the table and glance around, ‘uh I should probably…-,’ I gesture towards the door.

He looks at me quickly and stands up right, ‘yeah,’ he pauses. ‘Of course, yeah. You head on. Thanks again.’ He is smiling one of his all-encompassing smiles at me, eyes bright.

‘Ok, well…’ this is awkward now. I look around for my bag and snatch it up onto my shoulder, ‘I’ll, um… I’ll get Claire to call to arrange that prep session.’

He looks at me, confused, for a few seconds before saying, ‘oh yes, the baptism. Yes, of course, have her call me.’

‘Ok,’ I turn to leave, ‘bye then.’

‘Bye,’ he brings his hand up and gives a slight wave.

I walk out of the vestry and back down the aisle to the front of the church. I look back as I get to the exit. I half want him to be standing there, watching me leave. But there’s nobody there, just a painting of Jesus looking particularly solemn.

As I walk down the pathway to the street, I realise how much I enjoyed being in his company. It really was a good day.


	6. “The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.” —Winnie the Pooh

**“The nicest thing about the rain is that it always stops. Eventually.” —Winnie the Pooh**

***************************

The dreams have started back up. And since Rich dumped me, I’ve been fairly low on supply of warm bodies to satiate me, so the cockblocking force is becoming weaker and the dreams are becoming more inappropriate. Last night, I dreamt we were in the confessional. I've had this dream a few times to varying degrees. Sometimes that painting stops us immediately, sometimes it just lets us go on and on...

_This time, it started out as it always does, he’s in his side of the confessional, I'm in mine, behind the curtain, blurting out my fears. The fears are always different. Rarely the ones I told him in real life. This time, I told him I was scared of never having any children of my own and that I was considering adopting the meerkat on that TV advert, you know the one, he wears a smoking jacket and does that weird clicking thing with his mouth. I also told him I had become obsessed with watching nature documentaries about marine life and that I was worried I was the only one who felt this way about jellyfish._

Not sure where that came from, I’ve never watched a nature documentary and mostly just watch religious porn or youtube interviews with hot actors.

_And then, just like always, I asked him to tell me what to do and he told me to kneel. Sometimes the dream ends there, sometimes dream me gets a bit feisty and I tell him to kneel, but this time, I did as he said. As I was waiting for him to do something, I looked around the confessional and then looked down and realised I had nothing on except for my underwear. It was nice underwear, a matching set, black lace. My heart started beating frantically and I began to stand up and make my excuses, but before I could, he had flung the curtain back and was standing there. He grabbed my shoulders and roughly pushed me back onto my knees and then I realised, as he was looking down at me, that he was completely naked._

I think it’s the lack of sex in real life making my imagination run wild in my sleep. I can't remember the last time I went this long without sex. It was probably during that year Claire and I weren’t speaking, and I was trying to be a better person.

_Anyway, in my dream, he was standing there completely naked, I was kneeling, face right in line with his massive dick and I did what anyone would do in those circumstances. I leant forward, took the whole thing in my mouth (well as far as I could, honestly it was huge), and I gave him a blow job, right there in the confessional._

Unfortunately, the dream ended before we could do anything else, but when I woke up, I felt strangely disrespectful, like the whole thing had really happened. Sometimes I wonder how far he would have gone in real life if that painting hadn't fallen. 

Ever since that day I spent with him at the church, helping to sort through those donation boxes, I have thought of him pretty consistently. It’s like I’ve regressed back in time, back to that month after he dumped me at the bus stop, and I spent all my time drinking and forcing myself not to stop by the church and beg him to reconsider.

I’ve been talking to Claire about it, I tried to get her to let me off going to the baptism, and she really did consider it, but I could tell she ultimately wanted me to be there. She apologised for making me go and meet with him. Actually apologised. I was so shocked when I heard it, I actually asked her if she was having a stroke. She just tutted and said she should have realised it wasn’t a good idea and should have pushed harder for me not to go meet him.

I’m so mad at myself that one simple meeting, 18 months after the fact, could make me turn into a pining teenager all over again. It was bad enough the first time, but at least back then I had some sort of hope that it would pass. Plus I was fairly sure I would never have to actually see him again.

It’s been a month or so since I went to his church and it’s the baptism today. Which means I actually have to go into his church and stand next to him whilst he blesses Claire’s baby, and the whole time, I’m going to be trying to pretend I don’t desperately want to kiss him or trying to pretend that I don’t imagine what it would have been like if he had picked me and we were a normal couple who did normal couple things like have lazy Sunday mornings in bed or argue over who has to do the washing up. Or I’ll just be reliving that dream, imagining getting on my knees and giving him a blowy in the confessional.

It’s going to be awful.

***

The thing about Catholic baptisms is they are so fucking long. They take place during the Sunday mass service, which means I have to sit and try and block out thoughts of the priest for much longer that I would have liked. My mind keeps drifting to him sitting in his vestry with a can of G&T, or to the look he gave me as he left me alone at the bus stop, or the worst, to thoughts of the confessional, spurred on by fresh thoughts from last night’s dream. I’ve got the baby on my lap as a distraction (Claire’s idea) but every so often, I look up and catch his eye and he looks just as beautiful as ever.

_UGH, not over him._

As I’m sitting in the pews listening to the priest say his homily, I just wish the whole thing would end so I can go and get wasted at the party Godmother put together. Finally, Claire is nudging me to go up, we’re being called. Since I’m not a practicing Catholic (although I _was_ baptised and have that witch of a Godmother to prove it), I don’t have to denounce satan or whatever it is the parents and Catholic Godfather are doing. Apparently, I’m technically a ‘witness’ not a godparent. I asked Claire before the ceremony if that meant I could just wait outside the church and drink some holy wine instead of actually attending, but she just gave me an ice-cold look and threw the baby into my arms.

Now, I’m standing right next to him, his robes are skimming against my arm as he does his spiel and asks everyone to confirm they’ll teach the baby about what it means to be a Catholic. Every time he moves his arm, the robes brush my skin and it’s like a mini shockwave runs through me. I wonder for the tenth time just how depraved it is that I am standing in a church, holding a three month old baby and wishing the priest would just throw me onto the alter and fuck me.

_Pretty awful._

He’s blessing the water now, which means in a minute, the baby needs to be held over the font, and he’s going to lean in closer to me and...

I don’t think I can cope with being this close. I nudge Claire and she moves her gaze from the priest to me. I try to communicate with her that I cannot do this, and I suspect it’s my panicked eyes that do the trick, as she immediately grabs the baby off me and relieved, I sidle down the row, away from the priest.

My heart is beating rapidly and Klare, who is standing next to me grabs my hand, curling his fingers around mine and squeezing them gently. Finally, after some kerfuffle with the holy water and the baby screaming in shock as it is brushed over his head, we’re done and the four of us traipse back down the pews. Claire plonks the baby back in my lap as I sit and I focus on his chubby little face, giggly and sweet, as the priest finishes up the service.

***

When the last prayer is said, I jump up and push past people in the aisle to get out of the church before the priest makes his way down from the alter. The baby and I hang out on the wall outside the church as I wait for Claire, Klare and the others to chat with the congregation and make their way out. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my Godmother talking to the priest, her arm is on his and he keep stepping back away from her as she inches closer to him. He’s looking around, probably wondering where the baby is, and me, I suppose. I technically left his church on a friendly note when we last met, so he might be wondering why I am completely avoiding him, but I already made a promise to myself that I will not be talking to him today. I stay on the outskirts of the group, strategically wondering around as he moves through the congregation to chat, until finally Klare taps me on the shoulder and tells me we’re heading to Dad’s house for the celebration.

‘Thank fuck,’ I say, before bringing a hand up to my mouth as I remember the baby in my arms.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Klare laughs as he takes his son from me, ‘he’s a bit too young to be corrupted by his aunty just yet. Give him a year or so.’

We walk towards my dad’s car and Klare straps the baby into his car seat as I jump in beside him, deliberately avoiding looking out of the window to see where the priest has gone.

On the drive, the witch blathers on about the invitees for today’s party. Along with some of her usuals, she has managed to get a drag queen who performs under the name Avery Goodshag and she's excited for my dad to meet him. When we get there, I hoist the baby from his seat, plonk him into Claire’s arms and head inside, searching for a drink.

Thankfully, my Godmother has outperformed herself, she has got wait staff waiting in the house with cocktails, named in honour of the baby, and glasses of wine. I grab a cocktail and knock it back in two gulps, before grabbing two glasses of wine and heading over to sit on a sofa by the bay windows. I don’t plan on talking to many people here. Claire and Klare have invited some friends, but it's mostly Godmothers contacts and I just don’t have the energy to engage.

I find a seat and settle in to watch the circus. I drink my first two glasses of wine quickly and motion to one of the waiters to bring me two more when Claire suddenly rushes over, a frantic look about her.

‘He’s here,’ she says, plonking herself down next to me and grabbing one of my newly topped up wine glasses from my hand.

‘Who is?’ I smile back at her relaxing into the back of the seat. My first few drinks have taken the edge off from this morning and I’m in a better mood.

She takes a gulp of the wine. ‘Your priest.’

‘What?!’ I sit upright quickly. ‘Where?’

‘He just arrived, I ditched the baby and came straight here to warn you,’ she sighs. ‘I didn’t think he would be coming. He said at the church he couldn’t.’

‘What’s he doing then?’ I can't see him, but I’m guessing my Godmother has got him in her clutches for now.

‘I don’t know. She must have persuaded him.’

‘Forced him more like.’

‘Or maybe, after you two had a relatively normal interaction, he thought you wouldn’t mind.’

‘But he told me after the Carnival that he would never come to another of my family’s events again. He promised.’ I wave the waiter again, having knocked back my wine in a panic.

‘Well he hasn’t kept that promise,’ Claire is looking at me in despair. ‘What are you going to do? You can leave.’

‘I probably should, shouldn’t I.’

‘Well, it’s your nephew, so don’t leave if you don’t want to. But,’ she puts her hand on mine, ‘I don’t mind if you do. Do whatever you need.’

I’m a bit tipsy, having downed quite a few drinks in quick succession, so I decide it would be best if I leave. Just as I’m about to stand up and say goodbye to Claire, I hear the melodic tones of the man I’m trying to avoid.

He walks towards Claire and I slowly, glass in hand and calls out a greeting to us.

_Fuck._

I fall back onto the seat in defeat. There’s no way I can leave right now. it would just look awkward.

We say hi to him and he stands awkwardly for a second before Claire shifts closer to me and makes room for him on the sofa we’re sitting on.

‘So,’ he sits and places his glass on the floor by his feet. ‘That was a nice ceremony, your son is lovely.’ He’s looking at Claire.

I take the chance to subtly check him out. He’s wearing his black priest outfit. He has his collar on, and his hair looks a little longer than usual. Scruffy. I want to reach out and run my hand through it. Good job Claire is between us, I think to myself as I take another gulp of wine.

‘How’s Finland?’ he asks Claire. He’s still avoiding me,

She tells him about her job, and how she’s settling into married life with Klare, she laughs as she talks.

I wonder idly whether Claire and Klare are technically married in the priest’s eyes, since Catholics don’t allow divorce and all. As I’m trying to catch the eye of the waiter to top up my glass again, Claire nudges me and I refocus back on them.

‘I just said,’ the priest is laughing self-consciously, ‘how have you been since I last saw you?’

‘Oh, you were talking to me?’ finally the waiter puts a new glass of wine into my hand. ‘Umm,’ I think of what to say without giving away that I have, in fact, been awful since he last saw me, ‘yeah, café is going well.’

‘Oh,’ he looks at me with amused eyes, ‘good.’

Suddenly Claire jumps up and we all flick our heads towards the door where Klare is standing, calling her. It seems there is some commotion with the baby, so with apologetic eyes, Claire rushes off, leaving me and the priest alone.

The priest leans down and grabs his drink off the floor, before shifting closer to me, taking the middle cushion where Claire had previously sat.

_Fuck._

‘How are you?’ his eyes are boring into mine. ‘I have an odd feeling,’ he pauses and rubs the back of his neck, ‘that you were avoiding me earlier.’

‘What? No, I wasn’t.’

_I was._

‘You were. You moved away from me and you were the only one who didn’t say hi at the end.’

‘I had the baby. You don’t really like babies, so I thought I’d spare you.’

He still has his eyes right on mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be expecting him to lean in and kiss me. I glance down to his lips.

‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I drag my eyes away from his lips and look over towards the fireplace. ‘I thought you promised a while ago you wouldn’t come to anymore of these.’

It’s his turn to glance away now, he looks a little guilty. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. But your stepmother…’

‘Godmother,’ I interrupt.

‘Yeah, she forced me to come. She was very insistent.’

‘I can imagine,’ I mutter into my glass.

‘And I’m just having the one drink, I promise.’ His eyes are wide.

_Ugh, I just want to drag him up to my old room and throw him onto the bed._

‘Yeah me too,’ I say with a smile.

He laughs, ‘looks like it,’ he says as he glances accusatorially at the empty glasses accumulated next to me on the table.

‘Hey, this is _my_ only nephews party. I can have a few glasses if I want to.’

‘Of course you can,’ he’s still laughing. ‘You can do whatever you want.’

_Except be with you._

‘Except come to your church,’ I say. ‘I take it the ban is back in place now the baptism is over.’

I think I’ve taken him by surprise. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, he just looks at me, his eyes have gone from laughing a few moments a go to a slightly sad quality.

Finally, he speaks, ‘you could come to my church. If you want someone to speak to. You could come by. I wouldn’t mind.’

_WHAT?_

‘What?’

‘Yeah, well I mean, I’m always there. And I told you it would pass, didn’t I?’ he leans forward and smiles at me.

_I told you it would pass?_

‘You did.’

_He’s assuming it passed for me?_

‘So,’ he says, ‘you could come by if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.’

_If he’s assuming it passed for me… that must mean it did pass for him?_

He’s getting up now. ‘Well, I’ll be off. I came just like she wanted me to. But I best be heading back.’

I stare up at him. I don’t know what to say. It feels like a dagger to the heart.

If he’s telling me to come visit, then it HAS to have passed. He wouldn’t risk it otherwise.

He walks towards the door and turns back briefly to give me a quick wave before heading off to say his goodbyes. I stare down into my glass. I can feel tears forming. I need to get out of this room. I slam down my glass and run up the stairs, heading towards the safety of my childhood bedroom. I crash through the door and run straight into my sister. She’s been in here trying to get her son off to sleep.

‘Oh,’ she whispers when she sees me, a surprised look in her eyes.

Without saying a word, I bury my face into her shoulder, and she wraps her arms around me. All I can think of are his lips, repeating that one phrase over and over: ‘I told you it would pass, didn’t I?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> The rain has stopped for the priest it seems! poor old Fleabag.
> 
> thanks for reading! stay safe:)
> 
> Would love any comments or feedback, thanks!


	7. "Rivers know this: There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” – Winnie The Pooh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Thanks for reading, let me know your thoughts! Would love to hear any feedback. 
> 
> Stay safe folks!

**"Rivers know this: There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” – Winnie The Pooh**

******

Claire told me I shouldn’t do it. But I am my own worst enemy.

‘Look,’ she said on one of our weekly phone calls. ‘I am sympathetic to this whole thing. I’ve never seen you like this before.’ She sighed. ‘But, if you exacerbate the whole situation,’ _big word_ , ‘and willingly go and see him, I can’t keep comforting you.’

‘Claire, listen,’ I said, wiping down the tables of the closed café after a particularly chatty Wednesday, ‘I think I’ll be ok. My melt down at dad’s house was entirely brought on by too much drink. You saw me, I drank an entire bottle in about 10 minutes. It made me emotional. I don’t cry for men.’

_Especially men who left me at a bus stop more than a year ago._

‘Plus, he looked at me with those beautiful eyes and told me he wouldn’t mind if I came. And who could resist that.’

I hear a very big sigh after that comment. ‘Beautiful eyes?’

‘I’m joking, I’m joking!’ I protest.

_I’m not, I feel like he is burning into my soul when he looks at me and I could stare into them forever._

‘It’ll just take some time, that’s all.’ I reason. ‘He said it passed for him, it _will_ pass for me too. I’ll get there, I’m in no hurry.’

‘Ok,’ it’s a long drawn out ok, she’s making it very clear that she doesn’t believe me. ‘Well, I suppose I can’t really stop you.’

‘I can do what I want.’’

‘Yes,’ she’s blunt, my sister. ‘And don’t we all know it.’

Anyway, I’m going to go see him.

Claire sent me this article a while ago that talked about how people tend to romanticise the good parts of a person and forget the bad parts and that’s why a breakup is so hard. So, I’m going to go and see him, and in the process, I’ll remind myself of the things that annoyed me about him. I know there was something about him that irritated me, I’ve never met a single person who hasn’t annoyed me with some quirk or other. It’s just that right now I can’t remember anything bad.

I’ve thought this whole thing through which is very unlike me. I’m going to go by in the morning, which means less chance of him offering me a drink, I would imagine Pam will be floating around too which will help. I’ll stay for a short chat, keep it light, casual. And then once it’s over, I have a new guy ready to invite over to banish all thoughts of the priest from my mind.

I met him in the park, he came over to Claire and me and commented on my squat technique. I’ve been in a self-imposed dry spell since Rich, but Squat Guy is perfect to break it and if there’s ever a time when I’m going to need someone in my bed, it’s going to be right after I go and see the man I’m still in love with, who told me he was so over me that he is ok with being friends.

It’ll be ok.

***

He looks a little shocked as I slip into his church and take a seat at the back. It’s a Monday morning service, the church is not very full. It’s been a couple of weeks since the baptism. Maybe he thinks I decided not to take him up on his offer to visit.

He’s coming to the end of the service, I timed it so I wouldn’t have to sit and watch him go on about his love for the big guy for too long. I kind of think of Him as my rival, the rival who won out in the fight for my priest’s affection, so I’d really rather not witness their relationship up close.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been replaying his comment from the baptism. It’s been running through my mind constantly, like an unwelcome mantra:

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

As I sit in the pew now and watch him look skyward and talk of peace, I think of it again.

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

I wait in the pew as he finishes his sermon and says goodbye to the sprinkling of parishioners in attendance. I watch him as he talks to a matronly looking lady about her week. His eyes crinkle as he laughs with her and I can just tell he is truly engaged and interested in her story about her son and his failed English test. I thought I was the only one who’s soul he burned into when he looked into my eyes, but it looks like that is a regular occurrence with anyone he comes into contact with.

_Not jealous._

It takes a full 20 minutes for him to say all his goodbyes, I have sat and gawped at him for the entire time and finally he approaches me and takes a seat on the opposite end of the pew.

‘You came,’ he says holding my gaze for a few seconds before looking down at his hands. He’s got them in his lap, fidgety in amongst the folds of his vestments.

‘I came,’ I reply. I study his neck; one side is on show to me as he sits stiffly in the pew and winds his fingers into the fabric. It’s taut, the muscles pulled tight and rigid. I want to reach out and rub it, massage away the tension he’s carrying.

He hasn’t responded. I wonder whether he regrets telling me to come.

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

‘So,’ I begin, in an attempt to ease the tension.

He glances up at me, a quick shift in his body, ‘tea?’

I smile in relief, ‘ok.’

Like an echo of the first time I came to his church, I follow him into the back room, waiting patiently whilst he changes and makes us both a cup of tea. It feels a bit like a do over. This time, we won’t drink gin and casually flirt, teasing each other about how uncool we are. This time we will start out a new relationship, just as friends.

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

He returns to the room as I am studying the parish newsletter. His latest review was of a small Italian trattoria in Shoreditch. The title of his review is ‘Tortellini awesome but it’ll cost you a pretty penne’. My God this man loves a pun. I smile to myself as I begin to read the review and then find myself wondering, a lump in my throat, who his dinner companion was.

‘Nuh-uh,’ he turns slightly red as he puts out tea down and realises what I’m reading. He snatches the newsletter out of my hands, ‘you aren’t a member of the parish. Can't have you finding out our secrets.’

He sits down and places the newsletter on the shelf behind him. He’s back in his black uniform. The dog collar sits tightly at his throat, hugging his Adams apple.

‘I can't even read your restaurant review?’ I protest, picking up the cup of tea and blowing on it.

‘I told you a long time ago I’m not cool,’ his eyes are on mine again. ‘That review would just prove it to you.’

‘I enjoyed the bit I managed to read. And I don’t really need any _more_ evidence of how uncool you are,’ I counter.

He doesn’t respond to my jab. His eyes are dark, solemn. I drink him in as he watches me.

‘So,’ he takes a sip of tea, ‘how are you? How have you been? How was the hangover after the baptism?’

I laugh. Clearly, he had caught on just how much I had been drinking.

‘I wasn’t hungover.’

_Unless you count emotionally._

‘I actually got up at 8 and did a bootcamp in the park with Claire.’

_I actually did. Claire had been dying to try this particular one out but hadn’t managed to fit it into her plans on any of her recent London trips._

‘Wowwww,’ his eyes are wide, ‘8 am, I didn’t know you knew that time existed.’

He’s mocking me. Dickhead.

‘Just because you wake up at some ungodly hour every day, Father, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.’

‘I’m not sure 5.30 is “un-Godly”’ he counters, putting his hands into quotation marks. ‘There’s a whole glorious day happening before you even open your eyes. Think of what you’re missing out on.’ He reaches his hand forward. I think he’s going to nudge me, but before he does, he seems to think better of it and jerks his hand back to his lap.

I stare at his hands. I wish he would touch me. Even just a brush of the sleeve. I think back to the baptism, the jolts I felt as he brushed against me whilst I was holding my nephew. I hated the feeling. The effect it had on me was bad. But I crave it now, now that he is so close.

‘Tell me about your life, how is the café?’ his look is earnest. It’s the same look he gave his parishioner as she recounted her stories to him. I don’t like it. I don’t want the caring priestly look. I want more. I want the look he gave me that night in the confessional; dark, burning with desire as he looked down at me. I want the look he gave me at my house; at first inquiring, but certain as he stepped towards me and reached for my belt. And then fevered, intense as he took me confidently to my bed.

‘Um,’ I bite my lip, thoughts of that night racing through my mind. ‘What?’

He chuckles. ‘You still go… somewhere… then?’

_Oh, that was the thing that irritated me about him._

‘I was asking about your café, how’s Hilary?’

‘Oh, yeah. Hilary is good, getting a bit old now. She’ll probably pop off soon. Stephanie died last year.’

‘Stephanie?’

_Oh right, he never met her._

‘Hamster. Long story.’

‘Ok,’ he’s gazing at me again.

He really sits with things, this man. Just lets things hang out there, in the ether. I feel like he’s processing every single thing about me. Not in the lusty way that I look at him. I catalogue every touch, sigh and look to go straight into my wank bank.

It’s different for him. Like he’s so completely present, he isn’t afraid of long pauses, allowing him to take every possible thing in, every sigh, every word, every glance, every microscopic movement, just so he can react in the exact manner that’s required of him. So, he can give exactly what is needed, a kind word, a prayer, a gentle touch.

I feel a bit awkward actually. Like he’s seeing right into my mind. I need to break the spell that’s settled between us, ‘how’s, um… how’s Pam?’

He jolts slightly, as if coming out of a reverie ‘Pam? Yeah, she’s very well. Very well indeed. She, uh-,’ he glances down at his tea. ‘She moved out of the rectory. She has a…, um… a manfriend.’ He tips his head to the side, looking uncertain.

I raise my eyebrows, ‘a manfriend?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughs quietly, brows furrowed in, what looks to me like, sorrow. ‘A manfriend.’

‘I always thought she was after you Father.’

He sits back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. ‘Did you now?’

‘Yeah. She had a bit of a priest kink, I thought.’

He’s laughing again now, shaking his head and looking into his lap, like he can’t quite believe what I’ve said.

As I watch him, I wonder whether he’s lonely. He _seemed_ lonely before, back when we first me. And now, without even Pam to keep him company in the evenings, I wonder if he feels more alone or whether he is comfortable. Comfortable knowing that his God is always with him.

‘Are you lonely?’

_I didn’t mean to say that._

He shoots his head up sharply.

‘What?’

‘I just thought… with Pam gone. I wondered, are you lonely?’

‘I’m ok,’ he says quietly.

‘Really?’

He runs his hand through his hair again. I understand why he usually keeps it short, any longer and he’d look like a wild man by 9am.

‘Yeah, look,’ he stands and grabs our empty cups, placing them on the tray, ‘I’d better be going. I’m expected on a few house calls soon.’

_Ok, meeting over._

I stand and look at him. ‘Who do you go to your restaurants with?’

‘What?’ he looks confused.

‘When you do your reviews, who do you go with?’

‘Oh. Alone.’ He picks up the tray. ‘Alone usually. You know me, big reader, no friends.’

_Don’t say it._

‘I could go with you sometime.’

_For fucks sake._

‘You know if you fancy some company.’

‘Oh, right,’ he’s frowning, showing the creases in his forehead.

‘I promise I will keep my hands to myself and pay my way,’ I say, hands up in defence.

He doesn’t respond.

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

‘Well,’ I turn to leave, he’s clearly not keen. ‘Let me know, anyway.’

***

I never did call Squat Guy. I went straight to the café, spent some time with some regulars, including Joe of course, and have now decided to have a night in. I’m sure Squat Guy won’t mind. He’ll have the pick of the park I’m sure. I settle back into the sofa, mindless reality TV on and wine in hand when my phone buzzes.

Ugh Squat Guy.

I guess I’ll see what he has to say, I take a big gulp of wine as I answer the phone.

‘How about Friday?’ a lilting voice chimes back at me.

The Priest! The wine bursts out of my mouth in shock. Thankfully it’s white, but my sweatpants are now dripping.

‘Hi,’ I stammer as I hop up and put the glass on the table.

‘What happened? What are you doing?’ his voice is faint.

‘Oh nothing, minor wine issue. Nothing to worry about.’ I head to the kitchen and grab a cloth. ‘You were saying, Friday?’

_Friday?!_

‘Oh yeah,’ his voice gets louder. ‘I’m doing my next dinner on Friday. I was going to solo dine as usual, but I was wondering if you wanted to join me?’

_Oh my God._

‘Hands to yourself and pay our own way of course,’ he adds.

_Oh._

‘Um,’ I feign hesitation, ‘uh, yeah maybe. Yeah I think I can do Friday.’

He gives me the details and dials off. As I head upstairs to strip out of my wet sweatpants, I call Claire.

‘We’re going to dinner,’ I don’t even say hello.

‘What?!’

‘Yeah, so I think it went well today and we’re going to dinner.’

‘What?! Dinner… I’m not sure that’s…’

‘It’ll be good. He asked. And I remembered what annoyed me about him.’

‘Oh, go on,’ she replies drily. ‘Do go on, this will be interesting.’

‘He sees too much of me.’

‘He sees too much of you?’ she repeats slowly.

‘Yes, he sees into me, like he’s looking into my mind and can...’ I trail off.

‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘Yes, I don’t like it.’

She sighs, clearly resigned, ‘Ok. Well I don’t think you should go to dinner. For what it’s worth.’

‘Claire,’ I lay on my bed, ‘I’ll be fine. I promise.’

***

Oh God. I should have listened to my sister.

‘I think there’s a certain serenity to it, do you not?’ he says contemplatively. He’s talking about cleaning his house. Trust him to be so perfect that he finds cleaning his house peaceful.

We’re on the dessert course. The meal has been nice, it’s modern cuisine. The starter was passable, the main was fine, the dessert is sweet. But the best course is him. He looks fucking delicious. As in ‘I want to take him to an alleyway and screw him right here and now’ delicious.

I don’t know how he does it, he’s wearing black slacks, I think they might even be the ones he wears during the day. And he has on a light beige button-down shirt. It looks quite old, been through the wash many many times I assume. But boy does it fit him well. Every time he reaches forward for his glass, the fabric of the shirt strains against his bicep. _Why does a man of the cloth need to have such beautiful arms?_ The top button isn’t done up and the collar is resting right on his neck, right in the place that my mouth became intimately acquainted with during the night he came to my flat. I could go on. I’ll spare you.

He’s gazing at me now. His hand is hovering against his water glass (no alcohol he said), tapping silently.

‘What?’

He laughs, ‘there you go again. I was talking about peace.’

‘Oh right.’

‘So, what do you find peaceful?’ he cocks his head.

_This._

‘This.’

_For God’s sake._

He starts slightly. Shocked at the honesty of it, then he nods decisively, ‘me too.’

_I told you it would pass, didn’t I?_

We finish our desert and he gets the bill. Despite our agreement and my attempted insistence, he pays for the entire thing, claiming I can pay next time.

_Next time._

We leave the restaurant and begin walking towards the bus stop. He’s chatting about his plans for tomorrow. He doesn’t have mass on Saturday mornings and he's taking the day off. There’s a bookstore he wants to visit in Soho, he says.

As he chats, I think about his mouth, imagining his lips on mine. I think about his arms, holding me, pulling me to him. I think about his hand, it’s so close to mine as we walk. I want to grab it.

We reach his bus stop and he stops, turning his whole body towards me. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he’s back to his earnest eyes. ‘I enjoyed the company.’

‘No problem, always happy to help Father,’ I laugh awkwardly and jokingly punch his shoulder lightly, trying to banish the thoughts of his lips, his arms.

_That was weird, why did I do that?_

He squints up at the announcement board, ‘five minutes. Good timing. You’ll be ok getting to your bus stop?’

‘Oh yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s only on the next street.’

‘Grand,’ he sways slightly from one foot to the other.

Awkward goodbye over, I head down the side road. The street is quiet, I wonder if foxes are still following him, maybe one will appear to escort him home.

As I walk down the side street, staying alert for any passing oddballs, I hear footsteps behind me. They are getting louder. I get my phone ready to bash over the head of a potential attacker and turn abruptly.

I don’t have a chance to react, he’s right there in front of me. The priest.

‘Wha-?’ I begin, but before I can finish, he closes the small gap between us and crushes his lips against mine, his hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me in tightly. I close my eyes, I can feel his heart hammering against me, his tongue parts my lips and his hand comes up my body, caressing the back of my neck. I breathe him in, hands around his waist, tracing the muscles in his lower back. He lightens his touch on my lips and then pulls back.

He is breathing heavily, his lips resting on mine, open as he catches his breath. As I open my eyes, he puts his forehead on mine and whispers, ‘it hasn’t passed, has it?’


	8. “They’re funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you’re having them.”—Eeyore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> It went smutty. Apologies to anyone who was here for the angst but don't worry, I think there will be plenty of that next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading, i love all your comments so let me know what you think!
> 
> Stay safe folks.

**“They’re funny things, Accidents. You never have them till you’re having them.”—Eeyore**

****

We’re silent in the cab.

He’s looking out the window, cheek resting on his folded hand, the other hand is resting on the middle seat.

I wonder if he’ll change his mind. My stomach lurches at the thought.

After a heavenly few minutes following his statement, hearts beating rapidly and foreheads resting together, he asked if he should call a cab for the two of us.

I, of course, didn’t hold back my eagerness. And now here we are.

The streetlights flicker off his face as we drive through London. The hair on the back of his neck looks so soft. I look down at his hand, still resting on the seat, fingers drumming softly.

_I’m just going to go for it._

I reach out and place my hand on his. He flinches slightly at the contact, but then looks at me, his hand still under mine. He smiles, a slow, closed mouth smile, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They are round and solemn.

_He’s going to change his mind._

Just as I’m about to ask if he’s having second thoughts, he reaches his other hand towards me, shifting his entire body, and places his fingers on my cheek. He strokes his hand down my face softly, and moves closer to me, his face an inch from mine.

I breathe in his scent as he caresses my cheek and then under my chin.

‘That’ll be £25,’ the cab driver calls out.

We’ve come to a stop. We’re outside his church. Is he going to ask me in?

He reaches for his wallet and pays the fare and then opens the door, dragging me out, our hands still linked.

We walk silently up the path, towards the rectory. When we get to the front door, he turns to face me, placing his hands on my hips and breathing out deeply. A loud exhale.

At my dad’s house, when he cornered me in the alleyway, before Rich interrupted, he was drunk, then when I called him and told him I still loved him, I was drunk. Now we’re both sober. And we’re standing outside his house on church property. Is he really going to invite me in?

‘Do you want to come in for a drink?’

_Yes, I fucking do._

‘Yes, I fucking do.’

He laughs and lets us in, dropping my hand and heading to the kitchen to grab some G&Ts.

I look around the living room, awkwardly loitering, waiting for him to tell me to sit. It looks a little different, I’m guessing Pam may have taken some things with her when she moved out. I wonder if he had anyone move in to replace her.

‘There’s no one else here,’ he says as he returns with the drinks.

_It’s like he can read my mind._

I take a drink from him and my hands brush his knuckles, I shiver at the jolt it sends through me.

‘Ok, one request,’ he says, opening his can and taking a sip.

_Oh God._

‘Okay,’ I lean my bum against the arm of the sofa and wait.

_Probably no being physical._

‘That,’ he points towards me, ‘that thing. You just left me. You can’t leave me,’ he puts his drink down and puts his hand on the back of his neck, raking through the short hairs on the nape.

I’m so desperate to put my hands there.

‘Ok, done,’ I place my can on the side table and stare at him defiantly. Was he expecting me to refuse? An easy way out?

‘Done,’ he repeats it quietly, like a child who’s just learnt a new word and wants to test how it feels on their tongue.

He takes a step closer to me, his eyes are dark, hooded. ‘Done,’ he repeats it again.

Then, as if an unknown force has wrenched him towards me, he closes the small distance between us, and pulls me into his body roughly. His lips are straight on mine, it’s rough, like he’s yearning to get as close as possible. He nips at my bottom lip and his tongue brusquely forces my lips open to let him in.

I put my hands on the back of his neck, up into his hair, to the spot where only seconds ago, I was thinking about stroking.

His body is against mine, I can feel how much he wants me, as he presses his hips against me, he is hard and straining against the fabric of his trousers. He puts a hand in my hair and jerks my head back, lips diving onto my neck, biting and grazing against my skin as he makes his way down to my collarbone.

After my self-imposed sex ban, to be back here, with the man I love, it makes me feel like a teenager. My heart is beating wildly, and my stomach is fluttering as he lightly traces his tongue over my collarbone, nipping and kissing, one hand pressed flush against my back and the other frenetically moving through my hair.

When he lifts his face up to mine, all I can see is fire in his eyes as he whispers, ‘upstairs,’ and then spins me, propelling me forwards, fingers linked in mine, guiding me towards the stairs.

As we make our way up, he can’t seem to keep his hands off me, his thumbs make circles on my hands, then move to my body, tracing the curve of my waist, before ripping at the button and zipper on the back of my dress.

At the top of the stairs, he leans in and I can feel his lips on the nape of my neck, he’s pressing his body against the back of mine, sending shivers through me. And then suddenly he is pulling my dress off, down my shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

He spins me again, takes a step back and appraises my body. I’m wearing a matching black lacy bralette and underwear, my hidden armour. A delicious fervour is in his eyes as they make their way up my legs, past my tits and meet my gaze. This is the part I used to love about sex. My favourite part. The part where I just know that a man is so desperate for my body that he has no choice but to act on his desires.

Tonight, as delicious as it is, I know this won’t be my favourite part. I crave the feeling of his body on mine, the security of him against me.

As he stands in front of me, he yanks his shirt over his head, and then brings his lips back to mine, confidently edging me backwards and through a door behind me. He pushes me against the wall, one hand above my head, resting behind me, the other gently caressing my cheek. It’s a heady mixture of raw desire and a tender caress and it has me trembling.

His hips are grinding against mine and I am desperate to get his clothes off. I pull at his belt, hastily unzip his fly and he takes a step back, pulling the rest of his clothes off. He presses up against me again and bites on my lip, trailing bites and kisses down my neck.

His hand is on my waist and then brushing against my underwear. I push my hips towards him, desperate for contact and he obliges, slipping his finger under the material. He feels how wet I am and he moans into my neck as he starts to move his thumb against my clit.

He moves his fingers down and then I feel them inside me, thrusting in time with his thumb as it expertly strokes my clit. I arch my back, pushing against him and close my eyes as he increases his pressure and pace.

His mouth is resting against my collarbone, I can feel vibrations as he murmurs against me, ‘what do you want?’

‘Faster,’ I breathe. My hands are on his back. I move them up to his neck, it is taut and rigid.

As he responds to my request, my breath hitches and it doesn’t take long before I jerk and cry out his name as pleasure ripples through me.

He continues moving his thumb gently and I can feel his cock pressed against me as I catch my breath. As he tenderly kisses my collarbone, he tugs my underwear down my legs and then moves his hands up my body and pulls my bra off.

He leads me towards his bed and I realise it’s small, a little larger than a single, but not quite a double. He looks a little embarrassed as he glances from the bed back towards me, ‘Church issue bed, we’ll have to stay close,’ he whispers before pushing me gently onto the bed.

‘I’m ok with that,’ I reply, grasping his hands and pulling him on top of me.

I can feel his erection pressed against me as he presses his lips back on mine. I reach down and grab the base, moving my hand for a few tight strokes as he moves his attention to my tits, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger before leaning down and flicking the tip with his tongue.

I decide it's time I take charge, so I awkwardly roll him onto his back, careful to make sure we don’t fall off the narrow mattress. His body is so chiselled, do priests work out? I trail my tongue down his chest and make my way down his body.

‘Why does a priest need such a good body?’ I whisper as my hand closes around the base of his cock and my tongue flicks the tip. He moans softly.

‘Wha-?’ he asks, hazily looking down at me.

I move my hand up the length of his cock, slowly, testing his reactions.

‘Nothing, I just think it’s a waste is all.’ I say before moving my mouth over the tip and taking him into my mouth. I glide my lips up and down, hollowing my cheeks and humming against him,

‘God help me,’ he cries out, his fingers scrunched on the sheets as I slide my mouth down his cock again.

I drag my tongue up the lower side of his cock, and then tighten my hand around the base. ‘Please don’t bring Him into this,’ I say drily, making eye contact with him as I move my hand up his shaft.

He chuckles softly, and then pulls me towards him, flipping me onto my back.

As he hovers over me, the thought briefly crosses my mind again as to why a priest needs such muscular arms. He smiles at me. His eyes are playful as he leans down and kisses me. It’s intense, brimming with longing. He fills my senses and I inhale his scent, fresh and earthy. His thumb is brushing against my cheek. I can feel his cock as he grinds his hips against mine.

He rests his lips against my mouth, breathing raggedly. I open my eyes and his gaze is locked on mine, ‘you ok,’ he whispers.

‘Yes, I fucking am,’ I smile at him, reaching up to touch his temple, tracing the fine laughter lines by his eyes.

Finally, he reaches down, guiding his cock between my legs and in one smooth motion he thrusts, sinking into me. I wrap my legs around him and move my thumb to trace over his lip. He leans towards me and puts his mouth to my ear. ‘This is my favourite place to be,’ I hear him sigh softly as he continues to thrust slowly, rocking his hips.

His moans in my ear are such a turn on and I sigh as his hips press into me, ‘you feel incredible,’ he whispers into my ear, I can feel his breath on my neck and then his lips as he nips and sucks.

His eyes are closed softly, he murmurs something about love and God. And then his rhythm becomes quicker. I arch my body towards him and he slams against me, frantically thrusting,

As I cum for a second time, I cry out his name, jolting against him. I feel dazed, my hands are resting on his upper back, my hips are aching as my legs wrap around him, urging him closer. As soon as he hears my release, I feel him cum too, he cries out my name, and slams his hips one final time. This time he doesn’t bring his God into it but lets out a string of curses as he collapses onto me.

His chest is heaving against mine, and his face is buried into my neck. He brings his hands up to interlace our fingers and lifts his face up to rest his forehead against mine. His eyes are glassy and unfocussed, but he holds my gaze, peppering kisses on my lips and jawline.

I want to stay like this forever.

Too soon, he collapses beside me onto the mattress. It’s a tight squeeze for the two of us and he pulls me onto my side to face him, his hand is wrapped around me and he bends his legs, pushing his knee between my thighs. We are linked from top to bottom.

We stay like this in silence, waiting for our frenzied breath to subside and our rapid heartbeats to calm.

I don’t know who I’ve become. As I lie gazing into his eyes, round and gentle, I wonder why I have never enjoyed this part of sex before. The bit afterwards. It’s so intimate, like he is burning through to my soul. My default response here usually, would be to run, but I find I am willing this moment to carry on forever.

He breaks the silence first. He reaches his hand out, tucking a stray hair back off my face, ‘you broke your promises,’ he says with an impish grin.

‘I stayed with you,’ I protest. ‘The entire time.'

‘Not that one. You kept that one,’ he leans forward and kisses me softly. ‘Thank you for that, by the way... No, I mean the promises you made last week. Pay your way… my fault you broke that one,’ he rolls his eyes gently, ‘and…-‘

‘Keep my hands to myself,’ I finish, remembering the promise I made at his church, when I offered to join him for dinner.

‘Yes.’

‘I believe that one was also your fault, Father,’ I counter, enjoying the feeling of his finger, softly tracing down my cheek.

‘Maybe so,’ he concedes, laughing.

‘I have to say,’ I glance up towards the dark mahogany headboard. ‘Your bed is comfier than I expected. But just a tad creaky.’

‘Yes,’ he looks around with an air of childish curiosity, ‘it _is_ comfy. And I have never done this in it, so I’m discovering its creakiness in real time. With you.’ He moves his hand down my cheek to the curve of my waist.

‘So, I’m introducing you to new things then?’

‘You could say that, yes,’ he laughs.

‘I like this,’ I venture. ‘That’s new for me.’

‘New for you?’ he furrows his brow, confused. ‘New for you to like sex?’

I laugh, ‘No, we both know I’ve always liked sex. I mean, I like this part now. I like lying here, I like feeling close to you.’

‘Me too,’ he whispers.

‘But I wouldn’t say no to more sex. If it’s on offer, I mean.’

As he laughs, his expression is tender and then suddenly he jumps and pins me down, ‘oh, it’s on offer,’ he growls as we go for a second round.

***

It’s morning.

I know he’s awake.

His breathing has changed. But he keeps his eyes closed. I shift closer, the old mattress creeks between us. I put my hand on his cheek, running my finger down the stubble before resting it on his lips. They’re pouty, full and plump. I want to lean forward and kiss them. But I feel like something has changed.

Finally, he opens his eyes. He softly takes my hand and moves it from his face to rest on the mattress. I already feel what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth.

‘I think last night was a mistake.’


	9. “Goodbye..? Oh no, please. Can’t we go back to page one and do it all over again?” – Winnie the Pooh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe. I am really loving your comments and thank you for reading. This chapter is dialogue heavy. Our babies are really getting out their feelings.
> 
> And sorry to anyone who was affected by the last line of the last chapter, I didn't mean to cause you any pain. I can't offer you a helpline to call regarding this pain, but I can tell you that there is a wonderful podcast called The Fleabag Situation podcast that you could go and listen to to help work through some of those feelings (the pod has nothing to do with me, I just think it's fabulous).
> 
> Thanks, enjoy!

**“Goodbye..? Oh no, please. Can’t we go back to page one and do it all over again?” – Winnie the Pooh**

*****

You know that feeling when you’re living your life, minding your own business and getting through your days, and then something happens to change your whole trajectory and you just feel your stomach drop. Not a pleasant drop, not a flicker of excitement. But a stop in your tracks, life the way you know it is over, throw yourself off a fucking cliff, plummet.

‘I think last night was a mistake.’

Yeah, he got me. It’s a throw myself off a fucking cliff plummet.

We’re lying inches apart on his shitty little single bed, I’m entirely naked, his hand is covering mine, laying in the small gap between us on the mattress where he removed it from his cheek and placed it.

I don’t know what to say. I stare at him, wide eyed, as he rubs his temple roughly and then shifts, sitting up and swinging his body to put his feet on the ground. At some point during the night, he must have left me and gotten out of bed as he is wearing a grey t-shirt and some shorts. We definitely fell asleep naked.

I wait for a few moments. He stays, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands and I wait.

It’s his move.

I consider looking around for a shirt but for some reason my nakedness doesn’t really bother me.

He sighs. It’s deep. Lung emptying.

_Fuck_

_I think last night was a mistake._

I sit up against the headrest, the sheet falls to my waist. My movement must have interrupted his thoughts and he turns, shifting his body towards me and takes my hand.

I look down at them, our hands, interlinked. He is absentmindedly rubbing my palm with his thumb.

‘Ok,’ he begins, his eyes are round pools of sadness. Suddenly he glances down at our hands and realises what he’s doing, dropping my hand abruptly and clasping his own together.

‘Ok,‘ I say expectantly. I think he has already lost his train of thought.

‘Fuck,’ he grabs his head in his hands and roughly tugs at his hair.

The hair I was tugging last night.

I don’t think he quite knows what to say.

Maybe I’ll help him out.

I decided something this morning. I was lying next to him and I just had this feeling that something had changed. When we finally fell asleep last night, we were entwined together, my head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around me, snuggled close on the small bed. By the time I woke up, we were still close to each other, he was facing me, and I was filled with a very out of character feeling of adoration for his innocent sleeping form, but I just felt something had changed.

I wasn’t expecting it to be a stomach plummeting change, a ‘last night was a mistake’ change, but I at least thought there was some shift, some sort of priestly regret coming into play that might curtail any potential morning sex.

So whilst I was waiting for him to wake up, I decided that, unlike last time, I was going to say my piece. Last time I let him get away. Actually, I practically did it for him, I didn’t even make him say the words. Under the pretence of a question, I told him he had chosen God and waited for the nod. Waited for the confirmation that I had fucked up my life yet again, fallen for the wrong man who was now breaking my heart. And then I sent him away.

This time, I won’t make it so easy. I won’t plead. I don’t want him to do anything just because I’m a pathetic desperate mess, begging for him to pick me. I might be a bad feminist, but I think begging might be a step too far. But I am going to let him know my feelings.

‘Last night was a mistake,’ I begin, looking for confirmation.

He doesn’t say anything. But he does meet my gaze.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, ‘a mistake because we only had sex three times instead of five. Or because you woke up with a sore neck and would rather be at my place which has a normal sized adult bed.’ I sit up properly, crossing my legs like a child.

‘Those reasons I can cope with,’ I continue. ‘What I can’t cope with... is…-’ I falter.

_Don’t cry._

‘I can’t cope with last night was a mistake because nothing has changed, and you still choose...Him.’ I glance upwards.

He sighs again.

‘Because, I just want to say something. Last year, when you knew I was in a relationship, you cornered me at my dad’s house and...’

‘I was drunk,’ he protests, holding up his hands in defence. I put my hand up, palm open towards him. It’s still my turn to speak.

He swallows and closes his mouth.

‘And then when I called you after one too many wines, you called me back. And you talked to me for over an hour.’

‘Yes,’ he nods softly.

‘Then, you told me if I wanted someone to talk to, I could come to the church. And you very strongly fucking implied that it had passed for you.’

He opens his mouth to talk, I put my hand up, ‘still me.’

‘Ok.’

‘And then last night you came after me, completely sober, told me it hadn’t passed, and brought me here. To your home, your home which is attached to your fucking church. And last night, you said some things… Nothing about love,’ I concede.

_I would have liked that though._

‘You’re doing your thing again,’ he notices my disappearance.

‘That rule has expired,’ I say shaking my head. ‘You tell me we’re a mistake, I get a free pass on that.’

‘Ok.’

‘You said nothing about love,’ I continue, ‘but you did say some things.’

I think back to last night, the things he whispered in my ear. They hadn’t felt like the emotionally charged words of a horny guy speaking in the moment. When he had pulled me close to him and whispered into my ear, it had felt real. And trust me, I’m all for dirty talk, but boy did those sentimental whispers hit me to my core.

‘And after all that, to have me here, waking up in your bed, for you to say it was a mistake.’ I hold his gaze. His lips are pouted, despair is pouring out of him. ‘Well, I think that is just cruel.’

He starts at the word.

‘Cruel.’ He repeats it.

‘I never thought of you as cruel, and I understand we’re in an incredibly fucked up situation and I understand that this fucked up situation has now been going on for-‘ I think back to the bus stop, ‘nearly a year and a half. And during that time, I tried to have a relationship and well, you know how that ended.’

He nods, he knows fucking too much given everything I told him over the phone the night Rich and I had fought.

‘It’s been a year and a half of trying to forget you, and having you tell me it passed and then having you tell me it hasn’t passed and now having you tell me that was a mistake. It’s fucking cruel. But I know what I want to do.’

I eyeball him, daring him to drop his gaze.

To my surprise, he does and it’s to glance down at my bare tits. He leans down and picks up a shirt from the floor.

‘Can you just put this on please, I need to focus.’

I take the shirt, it’s one of the black ones he wears with his dog collar. Slipping it over my shoulders and doing up a few buttons, I resist the urge to pull it into my nose and inhale his scent.

‘Better?’

‘Better,’ he stands up and crosses his room, sitting on an old wooden chair at a desk next to the door. The desk is piled high with books and scriptures.

His shirt doesn’t really cover my bottom half, so I swipe my underwear from the floor.

I take a deep breath, ‘here’s what I want to say.’

He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, waiting for me to speak.

‘I love you.’

He nods.

‘It hasn’t passed for me.’

Another nod.

‘I know it will. If I have enough time, I know, at some point in the future, I won’t walk around feeling like you took my…’ I look around struggling for a word, ‘my heart, my soul, my essence…- ‘

_Don’t cry._

‘At some point, I will not be walking around with a fucking cloud hanging over me, filled with the dread that my life has been irrevocably changed by you, filled with the dread that I will never meet another human being who can take up the space in my heart, who can take all the love I have and make me feel like a real fucking person. At some point in the future, that cloud has to leave, because… well…’

Ugh, this is hard.

I can feel tears in my eyes. ‘Well, because it just has to.’ I finish lamely. ‘The sun has to come back soon. I mean, I know this is London, but we gotta get some blue sky some time, right?’

His eyes are on mine. They are round and misty. 

He opens his mouth, ‘I want to…-‘

‘No,’ I interrupt. I just really need to get this out. I need to have my say, a do over for last time. ‘Sorry, can I just finish.’

‘Sorry,’ he looks down at his hands.

‘At some point, I know I’ll be ok, and it will pass. But the thing is, I don’t want it to. I spent months trying to forget about you, months trying to convince myself my new relationship had a future. Then I tried to convince myself we could go back to being friends. But, even if you hadn’t come after me last night, a friendship wouldn’t have lasted. We wouldn’t have made it. Because I want more.’

‘I can keep going. I can run my café, see Claire and my nephew, love them. I can get up every day, exercise even though I hate it, meet some new friends, call my dad more. I can meet someone, have sex, cuddle, laugh at their jokes. I can do all these things. I can exist. But what I want, what I really want, is to live. And I want to do it now. And I want to do it with you. When Boo was alive-,’

‘Boo?’

‘My friend. Boo. She died.’

‘Ok.’ I’m thankful he doesn’t press it.

‘When she was alive, we lived. All my love was with her. We danced, we sang, we cried, we drank, we laughed, we screamed, we played. We lived our lives. We weren’t too sure where we were going or when we’d get there, but we knew we were going to enjoy the path that we’d chosen. And when she died, somehow, I got lost. I lost my footing and I fell onto someone else’s path.’ I’m not sure this analogy is working, but he’s still watching me intently, so I continue, ‘a path where I do things, I keep myself alive. I exist, but I don’t live.’

I can still feel the sadness pouring out of him as he sits, staring at me.

‘I have a lot of things to work through. I think you do too. But I think we could work through them together and learn how to live and get back on the path we were supposed to be on... I think it would be difficult. And I have always run from difficult. I used to want someone to just make all my decisions for me. Because then I couldn’t be blamed for making the wrong one. Yet again.’ I think of Boo.

‘But now I know, I want a difficult life with you, over any other life I could possibly have. You would have issues, I’m sure. I don’t for a minute expect you to find this easy, or to do anything drastic immediately. But I think you owe it to me, and you owe it to yourself, to make sure you are making the right decision. Don’t make the easy one. Don’t take the path where someone is letting you exist. Take the one where you live your life.’

‘So,’ I take a deep breath, he opens his mouth again to speak but I carry on, ‘I’m nearly finished.’

‘What I mean by all that is, I am in love with you. I want to be in love with you. And I want you to love me back. If you don’t, you can tell me. Like I said, it _will_ pass. And if you genuinely want it to, if you genuinely want the life you have, then just tell me. Stop fucking with me. Stop fucking me. And live it. But if you love me, if it hasn’t passed, and if deep down, the reason you came after me last night, is because you don’t want it to pass, then you need to tell me. You need to stop this cruelness, because I don’t think you're cruel. Not really. I think you’re kind and loving and compassionate and fucking passionate, and you have a past. And maybe you did cruel things in your past, or immoral things or selfish things. But whatever they are, whatever those things are, they are just things you did, they are not who you are. You need to live your life and let me live mine. I fucking love you, so I’d much prefer we could live them together, but don’t fuck me around with feeling guilty, telling me it was a mistake and then regretting that and chasing after me. Love me and live or don’t love me and live, but do something.’

_Ok, I’m done._

I exhale, glad to have gotten my speech out. I’m not really sure where that all came from. But as I was saying it, I realised it was true. Whatever he decides to do, it won’t stop me from getting my life back. If he tells me he’s sticking with God, it will delay me getting my life back. And it will make it considerably harder. But either way, I'll get it back. 

My eyes are filled with tears and my heart is hammering in my chest as I sit and wait for his response. His eyes are shiny, his hair is scruffy as he drags his hand through it yet again. I look around his room and suddenly I want to laugh.

What am I doing? I’m in a church rectory, in the bedroom of a priest who has taken a vow of celibacy. I’m essentially, but not quite, asking him to give up his life and pick me. And now I want to fucking laugh. Or I want to cry. Not sure.

_I’ll get back to you on that one._

He’s silent. I’m not used to this dynamic. Last time I talked that much at him was in the confessional. There was no going back after that night and there’s no going back now.

I sit watching him. The longer he’s silent, the more I think he may not even respond. I glance around the room, looking for my dress.

Oh, that’s right, he took it off in the hallway. I sigh thinking of last night. All of my angst and tears from the last year and a half, the bottled-up emotions, released all of a sudden as he ripped my clothes off.

_Fuck just speak!_

I think I should take his silence as decision.

There’s a phrase my mum used to use when I was younger: “Qui ne dit mot consent”. It means those who don’t speak up, consent. Not sexually, I like my conquests in that department to be willing and eager, thanks. She meant in life. She meant speak up if you don’t like an action or choice. And if you don’t, you can’t come back later and complain. You need to raise your voice to get what you want.

_Qui ne dit mot consent, father._

I get up off the bed and head towards the door.

As I pass by, he catches my hand and I stop.

‘Don’t leave yet,’ he swallows. ‘Just... Jesus, just give me a second. Please.’ He’s speaking softly.

He’s looking up at me with his puppy dog round eyes.

‘Ok.’

‘Ok,’ he stands and leads me back to sit on the edge of the bed.

Sitting next to me, he is still gripping my hand. Our fingers are interlinked. He places them on his knee, eyes fixated on his thumb, softly stroking the back of my hand.

‘I went to the church earlier this morning.’

‘So that’s why you’re dressed.’

He smiles. A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. They’re still heart-breaking pools of sadness.

‘Actually, I wore that shirt,’ he nods towards the black shirt I’m wearing.

‘Dog collar?’

‘No collar,’ he says solemnly.

‘I prayed for you.’

_Not what I expected._

‘I prayed for myself,’ he looks up from our hands now. Sad eyes on mine. ‘I prayed for guidance.’

_Oh god._

‘It’s the prayer I tell my parishioners to say actually,’ he’s still playing with my hand, his fingers are fidgeting between mine. ‘When they come to me during confession and tell me they’ve got to make a choice. I tell them to say this prayer and look to God for answers.’

_It’s God._

‘When I woke up earlier, it shocked me. I don’t usually wake up with someone in my bed.’

‘Usually?’

He gives me a wry smile, ‘never. And you were so close. Well... I was pulling you close. I had my arms...-‘ He drops my hand and lifts his arm up in a hugging gesture. ‘I had my arms wrapped around you so tightly, I was worried you wouldn’t be breathing.’

My hand feels strangely cold now he’s let go of it.

_Fuck._

‘And I could smell you all over me,’ his eyes are glistening. ‘And when I remembered why you were here, remembered last night, it made me feel...’

_Regret? Shame? Classic catholic guilt?_

‘It made me feel warm.’ He takes me hand again, softly placing our intertwined fingers onto my bare thigh. ‘And then I thought about where we were. Here,’ he lifts his eyes, glancing round the small, barely furnished room. ‘At my church. The church where I’m a priest for fucks sake.’

_Oh god, what’s he saying?_

His eyes follow mine. He noticed my disappearing act. ‘I know you said that rule had expired, but could you please just try to focus on me. Just for a little bit?’ he says sadly. It’s not a demand or a snarky comment on my leaving him. It’s just a plea.

‘Ok.’

‘Ok.’ He exhales. ‘So anyway, I went to the church to pray. I wanted a sign. A painting or you know...’

‘Or a fox?’

He chuckles softly. ‘Or a fox. But nothing came. I was there for an hour. And then I was worried you would wake up,’ he runs his hands through his hair again. ‘So I came back, and I came into the room and you were laying on your side, you had your palm under your cheek and you looked...-‘ He sighs. ‘Well I just walked in and thought, I love her.’

My heart flips.

‘I love you,’ he is looking more and more distressed. ‘I love God. I won’t stop loving God. And I won’t stop loving you,’ he raises his free hand and brushes his fingers down my cheek softly.

He is leaning towards me, lips pouted as he gazes into my eyes. I drink him in.

‘I tried to convince myself that it had passed. After I saw you in the supermarket that time, it brought back something, some feelings I had pushed down, and then to see you again only a few weeks later at your Dads house, well I was drunk, and I still pray for forgiveness for that,’

‘You don’t need it.’

This time it’s his turn to hold up his hands. Quiet.

‘I was badly behaved and had spent months suppressing my feelings and I was wrong. And then you called.’

I cringe at the memory of my drunken semi-declaration of love.

‘And you told me about your troubled relationship, and I loved hearing you speak. Even if it was about another man. And I told myself I was ok. You were with someone and even though you were worried about your love for him, you were trying, and I thought that meant that it was passing for you. Even if you hadn’t realised it.’

‘And then… you were at the church, booking in your nephews’ baptism for Christ sake. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you.’ He takes my hand again. ‘I thought it was your baby.’

Despite myself, and despite the situation, I laugh slightly at the memory.

‘And then you were friendly, and you stayed and helped me out, and I thought, there’s no way she would do this if there was still something there. I thought it _had_ to have passed.’

He bites his lip.

‘So, I thought if it's passed for you, that mean whatever feelings I was suppressing wouldn’t matter. All that time ago, when we first met, you came to me, to the church, for guidance of sorts. And I was awful, I took advantage…-‘

‘You didn’t take advantage.’

‘Still me.’ he repeats my warning from earlier.

‘Ok.’

‘No matter what you felt then or feel now, as a priest I shouldn’t have acted how I did. I have prayed on it constantly. Almost as much as I prayed on my feelings for you. In fact, I had prayed on that morning, the morning you came to my church for the baptism meeting, and I thought it was a sign. Here she is, in my church, behaving like it has passed, here's my chance. I can have a do-over and give you the friendship you needed.’

‘But I couldn’t do it,’ he looks down at our hands and wipes away some tears from his face. ‘I couldn’t do it. I gave into it. I let you down again. I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘It was a mistake,’ I conclude. I can’t help it.

‘It was a mistake. We shouldn’t have done that here. You shouldn’t be here.’

A tear falls out of my eye. I wipe it away brusquely.

‘But, I shouldn’t be here either.’ He takes both of my hands in his and holds them together between us on the bed. ‘You’re right. I was just existing. I came to this life for a reason. And all this time I was looking for signs to help me, and I didn’t realise it was you. You were my sign. I love you. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have put you through all this.’

‘So,’ I say softly. ‘What you’re saying is…-‘

‘What I’m saying is it hasn’t passed, I don’t want it to pass. I want to be with you.’

***

You know that feeling when you’re living your life, minding your own business and getting through your days, and then something happens to change your whole trajectory and you just feel your stomach flutter. Not a sickening drop, not a flicker of dread. But a stop in your tracks, life the way you know it is over, sing from the treetops, soar.

‘I want to be with you.’

Yeah, he got me. It’s a sing from the treetops soar.

_And I know that I said goodbye to you last time. As I walked away from the bus stop, hoping it would pass. But this time I really do mean goodbye. Now fuck off and leave me to my Priest._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone noted the total chapter count went from 10 to 9. I wanted to have them end apart and I was going to have Flea shoot her shot in chapter 9 and have priest say goodbye in chapter 10. However I was gently advised against it by some fwends on account of potential reader revolt and on the friendly advice that i was behaving a little too 'eeyore-ish'. 
> 
> So I decided to tigger it up and give you what you wanted, but that meant ending on this chapter.  
> I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> ****
> 
> Just a disclaimer that Priest's feelings on how the love story unfolded in S2: "All that time ago, when we first met, you came to me, to the church, for guidance of sorts. And I was awful, I took advantage…"
> 
> These words do not represent the feelings of the author who does not believe Priest took advantage of Fleabag and bows down to the greatness of PWB. 
> 
> I do, however, believe that this is what the priest may think about the situation, especially after he has had a chance to think the whole thing through.
> 
> #allhailPWB


	10. "How do you spell love?" asked Piglet. "You don't spell it, you feel it," said Pooh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was encouraged to do my original ending. This isn't it because i can't really remember what it was, but it is an alternative ending. It follows on directly from Chapter 8 and does not exist in the same universe as Chapter 9. Think of it as more of a Sliding Doors/ here's what happens in a universe where Flea lets the Priest speak first chapter.
> 
> I think this is still a happy ending, although, fair warning, Priest/Flea shippers may not agree. 
> 
> #staythefuckhomeandreadfanfic
> 
> Stay safe folks. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, i'm keen to write more so if anyone has any suggested ideas, feel free to leave a comment.

***** BONUS CHAPTER, PLEASE READ CHAPTER NOTES BEFORE READING*****

**"How do you spell love?" asked Piglet. "You don't spell it, you feel it," said Pooh**

***

You know that feeling when you’re living your life, minding your own business and getting through your days, and then something happens to change your whole trajectory and you just feel your stomach drop. Not a pleasant drop, not a flicker of excitement. But a stop in your tracks, life the way you know it is over, throw yourself off a fucking cliff, plummet.

‘I think last night was a mistake.’

Yeah, he got me. It’s a throw myself off a fucking cliff plummet.

We’re lying inches apart on his shitty little single bed, I’m entirely naked, his hand is covering mine, laying in the small gap between us on the mattress where he took it from his cheek and placed it.

I don’t know what to say. I stare at him, wide eyed, as he rubs his temple roughly and then shifts, sitting up and swinging his body to put his feet on the ground. At some point during the night, he must have left me and gotten out of bed as he is wearing a grey t-shirt and some shorts. We definitely fell asleep naked.

I wait for a few moments. He stays, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and head in his hands and I wait.

It’s his move.

I consider looking around for a shirt but for some reason my nakedness doesn’t really bother me.

He sighs. It’s deep. Lung emptying.

_Fuck._

I think last night was a mistake.

I sit up against the headrest, the sheet falls to my waist. My movement must have interrupted his thoughts and he turns, shifting his body towards me and takes my hand.

I look down at them, our hands, interlinked. He is absentmindedly rubbing my palm with his thumb.

‘Ok,’ he begins, his eyes are round pools of sadness. Suddenly he glances down at our hands and realises what he’s doing, dropping my hand abruptly and clasping his own together.

‘Ok,‘ I say expectantly. I think he has already lost his train of thought.

‘Fuck,’ he grabs his head in his hands and roughly tugs at his hair.

_The hair I was tugging last night._

I don’t think he quite knows what to say.

He stands up and pulls the chair out from under his small desk.

‘I…’ he sits down and clasps his fingers together tightly. ‘I went to the church last night.’

_Wasn’t expecting that._

He moves his head slightly. I think he noticed me disappear but he doesn’t say anything.

‘While you _were_ sleeping. I prayed for you.’

_Ok._

‘I prayed for myself. I prayed for guidance.’

I bring my knees up to my chest, hugging my legs against me.

‘God fill me with your spirit, peace and love…’

_Is he praying now?_

‘… please give me the wisdom to do what is right, and grant me your providence as I suffer.’

‘Very… poetic,’ I offer.

_Suffer?_

‘I usually offer it to my parishioners when they are struggling.’

I nod.

‘Anyway, I realised, when I was praying… I can’t change who I am. I'm chasing peace. My childhood… well it wasn’t peaceful.’ He swallows. 'I've been chasing peace for as long as I can remember. And I have worked long and hard to get here,’ he looks around his room, his eyes brighten momentarily, he must be seeing something I don’t. ‘I have put a lot into my relationship with…’ he glances skyward.

‘God?’ I finish for him.

‘Yea,’ he coughs. ‘Yes… I can’t change that I’m impulsive, I have rarely fallen in love, but when I do, I fall hard, I’m probably not the most pious priest you’ll ever meet.'

‘I don’t expect I’ll meet many more to be honest.’

‘I can’t change the ways I am, I swear, I sometimes judge too quickly, I drink a little too much -‘

‘I would argue that you can change that.’

He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

‘Ultimately, what I can’t change is that I am a Servant of God.’

I wince. I hope he didn’t notice.

‘Without Him, I’m.. I…’

He swipes at his face quickly, wiping away a rogue tear that has escaped his eye.

‘I _can’t_ change some things about myself, but I can change how I respond to them. I shouldn’t have asked you to come to dinner last night. It was a glaring misjudgment on my part. I’m sorry for putting you through this. I thought I was stronger. I thought I could change that I loved you. I thought if I spent enough time with you, I could numb my feelings. After last night, we both know I couldn’t. I behaved badly, I shouldn’t have come after you, I shouldn’t have brought you here, and as much as I loved every second, I shouldn’t have done any of that with you.’

He’s staring at me like he is trying to memorise everything about me. His eyes narrow and he picks up a shirt from the floor, passing it over to me, ‘could you just put this on for a second. I’m finding it hard to focus with you like that,’ his gaze drifts down to my tits.

I take the shirt, it’s the black one he wears with his dog collar. I don’t want to put it on. It feels cliche and it smells of him. I stand up, letting the sheet drop and head towards the door.

‘No, don’t… don’t go yet,’ his eyes are wild.

‘I just want my clothes,’ I lean down and pick up my bra from where he discarded it last night, looking around for my underwear.

I can’t see them anywhere.

_Fuck._

I put my hand on the door handle, before a thought crosses my mind, ‘there’s no one else here right? No way Pam might be visiting?’

He shakes his head.

‘Ok. I need my dress for this,’ I open the door and head to the top of the stairs. Ah, there’s my dress.

I remember how he took charge last night, guiding me to his bedroom, yanking my dress off before we had even got there, and let out a large sigh as I pull the dress on.

I look towards the door. He must be sitting on the bed still, formulating ways to continue breaking my heart. Again.

_I think last night was a mistake._

I’m not sure I can go back in. I know what awaits me. I’ve lived it before. Last time it was at a bus-stop after a day of trying to catch his eye to try and work out what was going on in his mind. This time, it’s in a church rectory, after a night of what I can only describe as pure heaven.

I can’t. I can’t face it.

I take one more glance towards the door. I can’t hear any movement.

Why couldn’t he have just left me be. I had been happy last night, after our dinner, walking to my bus-stop. I had actually thought that we maybe could have made it as friends. This is all his fault. He led us here, and now he’s leading the break up narrative, yet again.

In one quick resolution, my mind is made up. I’m taking charge now. I’m not letting him tell me all the reasons he chooses God over me whilst he sits on his shitty little single bed, surrounded by bibles. I take a tentative step down the stairs. I’ve done this so many times before. Woken up the morning after a hook up, instantly regretted it and made out of there sharpish, ninja style.

My mind turns to Jack, sneaking out of his apartment.... Boo.

No. Game face on. I have to get out of here.

Reaching the bottom step, I see my bag on the sofa where I tossed it last night in a flurry of activity and put it over my shoulder. Heading to the door, I look around the living area one more time. He’ll be fine here. Him and God.

I open the front door, it’s a nice day out, the sun is in my eyes as I walk down the pathway.

How has this happened yet again? After more than a year all I have to show is a failed relationship with Rich and now back to my priest. Back to my priest who is once again rejecting me just as I had begun to think I might be able to open up and let someone in. 

‘Please,’ I hear a shout and turn to see a face in the upstairs window. It’s him. He’s finally realised I’m not coming back.

I study him momentarily. HIs lips are downturned, pouty.

_His beautiful face._

‘I can’t,’ I call back up to him.

I don’t give him a chance to follow. I hold up a palm, a quick wave indicating a much lighter feeling than I am currently experiencing and then I turn onto the pavement.

Once I’m sure I’m out of sight, I break into a light run, wanting to get as much space between me and the location of my final heartbreak as possible.

***

Back home, I let myself into my front door and collapse onto the floor as it shuts behind me. Tears I have been holding back burst from my eyes and I curl my legs up to my body, hugging them into me. I’m not sure how long I sit there like that. Somehow, I just can’t seem to make myself move. I’m not sure how I can reconcile a life where I have tried, and failed, twice to make a man choose me. He didn’t even have to choose me. I would have taken the combo, I would have accepted him with his imaginary friend in tow.

After a while, when I have cried myself out, and am contemplating getting up off the floor, the door goes.

_Fuck._

It has to be him.

I can’t answer it.

The door goes again, ‘let me in!,’ comes a muffled shout.

It’s not him. It’s a woman’s voice. It’s my sister.

I spring up from my foetal position and open the door slowly. She bustles past me, shiny black suitcase in tow.

‘What on earth were you doing? I thought for a minute you had forgotten.’

I turn towards her, hand still on the lock, ‘forgotten what?’

‘That I was visiting for the weekend. Honestly, I told you countless times that I was coming. You were probably just thinking about your priest and dinner,’ she sets her bag down and turns to me, ‘how was last night anyway?’

I must look an absolute treat, because the minute she focuses on me, her facial expression goes from stern to soft almost comically quickly. I would probably have laughed in any other circumstance.

‘Oh my God, what did he do? What did you do?’ She rushes over to me, pushing the door shut and leading me to the sofa. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you dressed like that?’

Did I say I had cried myself out before? That was a lie, because as she forces me to sit down, her arm still placed tentatively on my shoulder, the tears burst from me all over again. I can hear loud, heaving sobs coming out of my body. She pats me awkwardly, not used to sisterly affection and I bury my head in my hands.

‘Seriously, what did you do? You didn’t try it on with him, did you? I told you you shouldn’t have gone. You just weren’t ready.’ She begins stroking my back gently. It reminds me of mum. How she would pull me onto her lap when I was younger or pull me into her arms as I grew and stroke my back, telling me to let all my feelings out. ‘Don’t banish any of them,’ she would tell me, ‘let them come out. You and me, there’s nothing we can’t work through together, no emotion is too strong, they all have to pass eventually, you just have to give them room to exist. Give them space.’

I wonder if she said the same thing to Claire. Or whether Claire was already so closed off as a child that she never came to our mother for help when she was upset.

Thinking of mum is nice. I peek over at the stolen statue, still displayed prominently on my shelf. I will survive this.

I lift my head and turn to Claire. She is being uncharacteristically empathetic. She looks back at me, waiting for me to bring her into the story. I tell her quickly about the dinner, and then about how he followed me, telling me it hadn’t passed. How he asked me back to his. Then I tell her about his admission this morning. “I think last night was a mistake.”

She huffs loudly. ‘He said what to you?’ She is indignant on my behalf. I like that. Like the idea of someone fighting for me.

‘So,’ she says, when I finish, ‘what are we going to do now?’

‘I don’t fucking know, Claire.’

‘Well,’ she’s all business, even when she’s soothing me, ‘I’m glad you left him as he was mid excuse. He’s a prick and he deserved it. I wonder whether he’ll just leave it like this, or whether he’ll follow up. What do you think?’

‘I don’t fucking know, Claire.’

‘If he comes round… does he know where you live?’

‘Yes!’ I exclaim, ‘you gave him my address!’

‘Oh yes,’ she tuts softly, ‘well, if he comes round, I think you should let him talk, ok. But you don’t have to say anything. The bastard. How could he do this again?’

‘I don’t fucking _know_ , Claire.’

‘Well, you don’t have to talk to him today. If he comes, I’ll answer the door and send him away.’

I realise I don’t even remember why she is here this weekend, ‘why are you here?’

She sighs, clearly annoyed that I didn’t remember, but when she speaks its kind, ‘it’s dad's anniversary dinner tonight. Don’t tell me you didn’t remember, we’re going to the restaurant they celebrated their engagement at.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, Christ,’ she remembers, ‘that’s the restaurant you met…’

‘Yes…’

‘Well, we can’t go. I’ll have to call him and tell him we can’t.’

I’m melted into her, the tears seem to have stopped again for now, but I don’t want to move.

‘Ok,’ she shifts slightly, ‘I think you should have a shower, and we can…’ she purses her lips, ‘we can stay in and watch movies all day, like we used to with mum.’

_Woah._

I must look a complete mess. Claire hasn’t had a duvet/ TV day in years. I used to try and get her to after mum died, but she would just tell me she was too busy and besides “I have my own family to take care of, I can’t spend days with my sister doing nothing.”

The shock of if jolts me into action, so when she corrals me to get up, I drag myself towards the bathroom. I can hear her on the phone. As I turn on the shower, I wonder how she plans on getting us both out of dinner with dad and his cunty wife. Probably best not to ask.

***

I emerge from my shower, feeling slightly soothed.

_I think last night was a mistake._

Fuck, how did I let this happen again? I throw my towel down and climb under the duvet, pulling it up over my head and curl myself up, willing myself not to start crying again.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t cry over men. I certainly don’t fall into _my sisters_ arms and sob about them. Maybe I’m getting my period, I think as I hear the front door shut softly.

‘What are you doing?’ Claire comes into the room.

‘Claire…’ I begin, pulling the duvet tighter as I feel her sit next to my head. ‘I can’t… Who was at the door?’

‘No one, wrong house,’ she sighs audibly.

‘It was him wasn’t it.’

‘Yes.’

‘What did he want?’

‘He wanted to talk. He wanted to come in but I told him you weren’t here.’

I poke my head up out of the duvet, ‘thanks.’

‘I think you should talk to him. But not today, ok.’

I bury myself again, the thought of talking to him, having him come here. It fills me with dread. The kind of dread you feel when you realise you thought for one split second, that the man you have been in love with for 18 months is finally letting you into his life, only for that to all come crashing down in seven words, spoken casually to you as you lay nose to nose.

‘He looked a bit rough.’

‘Good.’

‘Deserves it,’ she feels the duvet for the outline of my hand. ‘He’s just a complete prick. What do you want to watch?’

I think for a second. ‘Alien.’

I know she hates that film, but to my surprise she doesn’t even hesitate, ‘Ok, get dressed and come out.’

***

We spend the entire day watching movies, after Alien, I make her watch Silence of the Lambs, ‘you’re taking advantage of this,’ she huffs as she puts it on.

As the credits roll, she flicks the TV off and turns to face me.

‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘Do about what?’

‘About your priest.’

‘He’s not _my_ priest.’

‘You know what I mean.’

What am I going to do? I reach forward for the glass of wine that appeared half way through the second movie. I’m back at square one. Back at the place I was 18 months ago. I could have two months of drinking and shagging around like I did last time. Then find someone new and hope that I never have to see him again.

‘You know you’ll get through this, right?’ She’s got her serious face on. ‘You’ve never needed anyone. You’re the strongest person I know. He’s nothing to you. Not really.’

I flinch slightly at the thought of him being nothing to me.

‘Sorry, I mean… I know he is _a lot_ to you right now. But really he’s nothing. You’re strong, you don’t take shit from anybody and you don’t need anyone.’

‘What if I don’t want to be strong? What if I want to need someone sometimes?’ I look at her pleadingly.

‘You don’t have to be strong all the time. Today you can be… you can be…’

‘Weak and useless?’

‘Yes,’ she’s glad I said it for her. ‘You can be weak and useless. You _have_ been a bit weak and useless.’

I raise my eyebrow.

‘It’s ok though. You know, being with Klare has helped me see, we don’t need to always be on top of everything all the time. Mum was strong. She took no shit and she raised us to do the same. But it doesn’t have to be all the time. I think mum would be ok with us being strong most days. And to sometimes admit we need help. Today you’re useless… hey they were your words, but tomorrow, or if not tomorrow, then soon, you will be back. Back to pissing me off and calling out the bitch on her shit. You do not need _him_ to get back to that.’

‘What if I want to need him. Sometimes, I just want someone there.’

‘ _I’m_ here.’

‘You have Klare and the baby.’

‘I’m here,’ she reaches her hand over and places it on top of mine. ‘You don’t need me everyday, but on the days you do need me, I’m here, and I will watch crappy movies and drink wine. I’ll let you cry into my new white shirt,’ she glances down at the mascara stains on her shirt.

_Oops._

‘I’ll get you a new one.’

‘It’s ok,’ she half laughs, ‘you can cry into my new white shirt. You’re the only one who can.’ I smile. ‘And maybe my son,’ she adds as an afterthought.

‘Thanks Claire.’

‘So, what is the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘Yes, plan for moving on from this bastard once and for all.’

‘I don’t think he’s really a bastard.’ I don’t know why I’m defending him.

‘No?’

‘I think he’s just a little bit lost. And he found me at a time when he was vulnerable.’

‘Oh,’ she raises an eyebrow.

‘And I found him at a time when I needed to learn how to hope. I had forgotten. I’d forgotten how to live. I missed mum, I missed Boo, I missed you.’

She looks away.

‘And I needed some hope. And hope was there, it was radiating from him. You know, you saw him.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t just think he was fit?’

‘Of course I did, but I saw more. And I needed more. I wasn’t feeling. I was numb to the things happening around me, I didn’t find anything particularly sad, I didn’t find anything particularly happy, I just… was. And I might cry about this for a while. I might be… weak and useless… and I might need you to buy some new white shirts for me to cry into.’

She tuts.

‘But deep down, I think the reason this is so hard is because I know he’s right. It _was_ a mistake,’ I feel tears in my eyes again. ‘We were good for each other for a little while. But we’d never have worked. I thought I wanted a love story. I thought I needed one. And maybe I did. So I’m glad I met him. I’m glad I fell in love with him. I’m glad because it helped me to feel again. It reminded me to hope.’

I’m crying now. Claire still has my hand in hers and is squeezing it tightly.

Earlier when I was leaving his house, I thought the only thing I had to show for my last year was a failed relationship and a repeated fuck up with a priest. But I was wrong. I have this. I have Claire. Eighteen months ago our relationship was non-existent at worst, tenuous at best. I try to imagine Claire letting me sit and cry with her for an entire day eighteen months ago. It would not have happened. She would have scowled at me and told me to get dressed for dinner.

Maybe this was all worth it, worth it just for this.

‘It reminded me to hope, and it led to this.’

I look at our hands.

‘What?’

_Oh God._

‘This. Sitting with my sister, whilst our dad and his cunty wife are out without us,’ she laughs, ‘sitting with my sister, and talking about… I don’t know.’ I can’t say it outloud.

_I think Claire might be my love story._

She smiles at me, ‘yes I like this. And I like your timing. Honestly I couldn’t think of anything worse than being out with her tonight.’

‘Well… you’re welcome.’

We smile at each other until she awkwardly looks away and picks up the remote.

‘Ok, last film, my pick this time. I’m not watching another freaky one, I won’t sleep.’

‘We can spoon later if you get scared.’

She just sighs at me and turns back to the tv.

'Amelie,' she mutters to herself.

Yep, Claire is my love story.

***


End file.
